


As the Reprise Begins

by RamaMind



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Cousin Incest, F/M, Gen, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prequel that ends at the start of the Books/Show, Prophetic Visions, R plus L equals J, Shit is gonna go down anyways but it's about the mindset you know?, Tho cousin incest isn't even a thing in Westeros, lighter and fluffier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 07:43:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 64,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7631203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RamaMind/pseuds/RamaMind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon and Robb have always been inseparable, best friends, "as close as brothers" people say. But in spite of that, or because of it, Robb knows only distance is the answer. Jon is not his to have, because of duty, because of honor, because of what it is expected of him. Jon is his cousin, he has to to love him as such.</p><p>Jon, for better or worse, thinks he knows his place. Distance seems the only answer to Robb, even though neither is willing or able to endure it. Robb feels shame on his desire, and Jon can't allow himself to wish for more, and both are willing to remain silent if it means pretending things are fine, even when they are so clearly not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that was a vague summary, but this is a short story so everything is spoiler. Long time fan, just now writing, hopefully I haven't butchered the characters too much.
> 
> So what you will get of this story is Jon/Robb with a bit of fate-bending on the side, it will be clear from the first part that Jon's life in Winterfell has been different, and Cat has been doing her best to make things right, even if she is way out of her league. Not that it won't stop her.
> 
> Mix and match of the book and tv series, and the telltale game series (Don't worry if you haven't played the games, this is so prequel it doesn't affect much of that)
> 
> Kudos, comments and feedback are very much appreciated, they let me know if I'm hitting anything right! The story is halfway done but I do lot of editing so updates will be weekly more or less. This is a short story with 5 chapters, although they are sizable bites on their own.
> 
> Hope you like my take on this pairing, and hit me with questions, doubts or feedback!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a song, prophesized time and time again. Beginning through end and once again. The song always remains the same, at least it appears so, but certain accords change with each reiteration, some become harsher, yet some become sweeter. And maybe once one will change the song; but for now, the accord plays sweetly, and that's all that matters.

**Jon**

 

The chill of the late-afternoon settled around the courtyard, it would be dark soon. Jon breathed in sharply the cold air, sweat beading across his temple cooling quickly. This was taking too long, Jon thought, nightfall is almost here. The small crowd cheered, Arya and Bran, Master-at-Arms Ser Rodrik Cassel and his trainees, stable workers and even idle castle servants all entranced by the duel, as if they truly were knights fighting at a tournament. Jon rolled his right shoulder, and the pain stung sharp and white where the training sword had pummeled him, yet he did his damnedest to keep his face schooled. There was a rush on his veins, a fire on his gut, and he was not going to loose this match.

 

“Think you had enough, Snow?” Jon disliked it when Robb called him Snow -not as much as when Greyjoy did so- but it was Robb, and that kept Jon from saying anything. “I could go easy on you, if you want to.” Robb spoke confidently, but he wasn't in any better shape. For one, Robb wasn't as good at keeping his face blank; Jon could see the wince on Robb's lips every time he drew in breath. That hit on the ribs had been true.

 

“Won't be needed, my lord. You won't last long.” They started circling each other again, the small crowd going rabid, each minute only having added to the excitement of the duel. People had slowly started circling their spar, the last of the day's training; and soon, and inexplicably to him, it had turned into an event of its own. He didn't know what had possessed Robb to rise the stakes and goad him to loose the protecting padding -even when Ser Rodrick Cassel had been adamant they stick to the wooden swords instead of using dulled steel ones as Robb wanted- and Jon wasn't even sure himself why he had taken the challenge so fervently.

 

The crowd cheered, Greyjoy taking in bets with both hands and a sore throat from yelling. Jon could hear lots of chants aimed at Robb, but also more than a few towards at him, Arya's breathless shouts the loudest of them all. Robb charged in a blink, enough to make Jon doubt and struggle in his parry, but he was able to regain the distance between them with a quick movement of his feet. The pain on his shoulder flared; Robb's hits were truly demolishing, he could not take another one. As long as he had speed on his side, he could win. Jon feinted, and Robb's response was quick, but when realization of Jon's real movement sneaked on him, Robb could only sluggishly block the swing, taking most of the blow on his side as Jon sidestepped him, quickly regaining the distance once again.

 

Robb didn't even try to mask his discomfort as he gripped his side, his visage transformed to reckless fury. It wasn't real anger, Jon was aware, but for some reason the intensity in Robb made him shiver. Jon kept his face impassive, even when he could not stop himself from gulping hard. The training sword almost felt like real steel under Robb's command, the raw strength on each strike something Jon truly couldn't allow to land on him. Robb had become stronger than him, even if admitting it hurt his pride. There was no denying Robb broad shoulders and ever-thickening arms would soon be able to lift a warhammer like Robert Baratheon did. The sight of Robb's bare back covered in sweat flashed on Jon's mind. Yet Robb was wearing a loose tunic, even if it clung to his form from sweat; even Robb's hair was damp against his forehead. Jon liked Robb's hair, he thought for some reason; his own hair was dark, but Robb was many colors. Fire red under the midday sun, warm and speckled of gold under candlelight, earthy and wild like the Godswood in twilight. “Kissed by Fire” once an old soldier had called it, a symbol of good luck. He had said that to Robb once, when they were littler. Now Robb wasn't little at all, of that he was sure; a man grown, his shape eliciting enamored sighs from the kitchen-wenches to the washer-women around the castle. Specially when Robb just had to lose his shirt, exposing his copper-trailed torso for everyone to see, to leer at. Kissed by fire all the way to the waist of his trousers and beyond. Jon shook his head, his face flushed from the fight, probably. He was getting distracted. Robb was in front of him as they continued circling each other, and then Robb's lips parted slightly, and the descending shadow's played a trick on Jon's mind. There could not be want what he saw on Robb's- Lord Stark's Son and Heir of Winterfell- red and sweat covered face. Jon knew it couldn't be that.

 

Robb charged this time, and Jon's swift block was pitiful under Robb's sheer power. He struggled under the pressure, his throat howling in exertion as he finally managed to deflect Robb's sword. He tackled Robb's side as he stepped back, but Robb's feet where firm on the ground, and Jon almost felt he had tried to push a wall. Sweat itched on his forehead, his arms hurting and tired, his breath jagged and loud. Robb smiled, his lips red and cocky, his blue eyes dark and fiery.

 

Jon doubted if he could win this match; the only chance he had, was to fell Rob on the next attack.

 

Just a he was ready to make his move, the crowd's noise died out almost instantly, Arya and Bran looking panicked for a second before he lost track of them. Then only the sounds of steps walking down the wooden courtyard stairs was the only thing on his ears. It had gotten dark, and as a quick servant lighted the courtyard torches, Lady Stark's form came into view. “Apologies, Lady Stark” Ser Rodrik Cassel's voice tethered weakly on the air. “Practice run a little long for Robb.” Lady Stark walked slowly, the flames of the torch falling behind her, obscuring her face. Robb gulped and stared at his lady mother, his eyes wide and still.

 

“Robb.” Her voice was low. “Your lord father expects you before supper; as you were well aware. Don't keep him waiting. You can wash up later.” The servant lighted another torch, and finally light reached her face. “Maybe next time you'll be able to beat Jon, but not today.” She smiled as she gave her son a pat on the back then she gave Rodrik a warm nod. “Don't worry, Rodrik, is not you who will get chewed up for being late.” Her eyes fell on Robb once again, and he took this as a sign to quickly make his retreat. He jogged to the rack next to Jon and he mouthed his goodbyes before scampering off. Jon saw Robb walk away, the broadness of his back at odds with the memory of the redheaded boy from his memories, there was little of that boy in this man. Robb looked back, a grin on his lips that reached his blue eyes, “Next time I will definitely put your ass on the ground!” Except for those mischievous blue eyes; Jon could always see those, even when his own eyes were closed.

 

It was all he had these days; his memories, and their spars in the courtyard.

 

The crowd had already returned to their routines, the maids quickly scampering off to the kitchens, not before giving Robb hopeful glances as he disappeared into the corridor -glances that Lady Stark did not miss- Jon checked around for Arya and Bran, but they were smart children and had already run off to get presentable for supper. Jon returned his sword to the rack, wiping his forehead with his forearm, trying to make himself at least somewhat presentable. “You are in dire need for a bath, Jon” Lady Stark said with a smile, which he returned in kind as he spoke “My watch is about to start, I guess a change of clothes is the only thing I'll have time for.” She quirked her smile in slight disappointment, fixing the collar of her cape to keep the cold out. “You have been missed these past few days on the table, Jon, but I can't rue you for your sense of responsibility.”

 

Jon had decided to join the castle' watch -he needed to do more- and his first week had been the late watch to fall on him. It had only been almost a week, but it really did warm his heart that the Starks missed him so thoroughly. ”Next week the dawn watch falls on me, I do hope my seat my is still awaiting me then” He joked, but there was something sad on Lady Stark's gaze for a moment. “Always, my honorable, Jon. You know that, do you?” She said placing her hand tenderly on his face, as a mother would. He blushed under her touch. “I do, thank you Lady Stark.” She let out a well practiced sigh as she held his arm and motioned him to walk. “How many times must I tell you, Jon. Call me Aunt Catelyn.”

 

Jon was a lucky bastard, of that he was aware. If he had been born anywhere in the south but Dorne, he'd be treated like nothing, something to be hidden and kept far away. Instead, he had been raised with the rest of the Stark children, like family. For all of Jon's childhood, he was never aware how exceptional his situation had been. He knew Lady Stark wasn't his mother, but he couldn't remember her treating him with anything but kindness. He could remember a time, when he was lonelier, only some memories of Lord Stark telling him stories, and his games with Robb that seemed forbidden somehow. He really didn't have a strong memory of Lady Stark before Bran came.

 

She then had said Jon was old enough to hold a babe, and had put Bran on his arms. He was so little and wide eyed, and Jon had loved him instantly. After that he remembered being happier, He and Robb would look after Sansa when she played outside, and Lady Stark started to teach him how to read, Arya and Bran sleeping on their cribs. He remembered fondly those memories, her gentleness as he tried to make sound the words. Jon still couldn't understand why her eyes teared up when she smiled at him back then. He felt loved, although he never craved her hugs like his cousins did, specially Robb who always seemed to clung to her dress. It wasn't until Greyjoy had cruelly taunted him when he was around nine that he had run sniffling and begged Lady Stark not to hate him, that he would be good but to please not hate him. She had grown pale, asking whom had said that. She had not being kind to Greyjoy after that. She had hugged Jon that time, and told him that she cared dearly for him. It wasn't until after that Jon started realizing how fortunate he was. Most highborn ladies would object to a bastard living in their household, but Lady Stark had made clear that whomever called him such would definitely not stay on her good graces. Till this day, she still regarded Greyjoy with aloof coldness at best.

 

Lady Stark fixed her collar once again, making Jon smile in amusement. She rolled her eyes. “It is going to be almost seven and ten years and I still don't get used to the cold.” She held his arm tighter as they walked. Usually they spoke more when they walked together, about the household and what Jon had been up to; but today Lady Stark seemed quieter than usual. “My Lord Husband received a letter from the wall; Lord Commander Mormont is sending a small party from Castle Black.” She said evenly, almost casually; but they both knew she was tiptoeing around the issue. He had always loved his father, but when a fortnight ago too much wine had made his heart heavy with sadness, it was the first time he had spoken against him; unfortunately, not only Robb and Greyjoy had heard him. Lady Stark had stood just out his sight, intending on saying her goodbyes for the evening.

 

It had been the first time Lady Stark yelled at him.

 

Jon had fled embarrassed, almost like a child, yet the worst of all, it that he did not completely regretted what he said. _Maybe if my father hadn't dishonored my mother, I wouldn't be a bastard_. Hot tears fell down his cheeks, even when the chill of the night made him shiver. He was grateful of his life and his family, but he could not deny the hurt on his chest. They might share blood, their might share love; but he was not like trueborn Stark children; he was Snow. He was just a Stark bastard, Benjen Stark's bastard.

 

The next day Lady Stark had said nothing, but Jon couldn't miss the sadness in her eyes.

 

They continued calking through the corridor, and Lady Stark sighed, her hot breath leaving a trail of mist. “They are worried about the increase in deserters, and they need more answers my Lord Husband can give. Their party should arrive in less than a week.” Her eyes widened, as if she struggled to ask for something. Northerners weren't known for sharing their feelings as openly as Lady Stark was used to, so Jon could always notice her treading carefully.

 

“It will be fortunate to see my father again. I miss him deeply.” Jon said with honesty, even when he felt the sadness under his words. Lady Stark's eyes fell, her semblance suddenly tired. “I'm so sorry Jon,” Her words laced with such vivid pain it almost scared him. “I, we tried to do right by you, to make you feel the Stark that you are. We should have know it would never be easy for you. We were foolish.”

 

“Please, stop,” Jon said, his throat suddenly tight. “You and Lord Stark have been wonderful to me, more than any bastard would deserve.” He could see her eyes flaring at the word, but he pushed. “It's not your fault. Whatever small grief I might feel, it's nothing compared to the love your family has given me, or the indifference I'd receive anywhere but here.” Jon stopped in his tracks, making sure Lady Stark take his words to heart.

 

She let go a small sob, her eyes brimming with tears. “Oh, Jon. We have been blessed by the Old Gods with you,” She smiled, placing her gloved hands on his warming cheeks. “You are the best of us all, Stark to the core.” She let the moment hang, then quickly wiped away her tears. “Now! Got get yourself cleaned up, I don't want you chewed up for being late either.” She gave him a pat on the shoulder, and he bowed before jogging away.

 

When he made for the corner though, he could see something in her face. There was always a fraction of a moment, when she let her guard down, that he could see the heartbreaking sadness in her eyes directed at him. But it was never only sadness, there was always something else beneath.

 

And he could swear it was guilt.

 

**Robb**

 

 

He washed up with care, splashing the lukewarm water over his face and chest, the grime of the day leaving him behind. The meeting with father had been long today, making up the lost time from the other day when Robb's sparring had taken too long. They talked extensively about the land dispute that the Boltons just refused to deal with, even when it was between their own vassals. Robb was almost sure that father could decide this on his own, but he deeply appreciated his father asking him for counsel “You will be the Lord of Winterfell someday, my son. You must learn as I did.” Robb had sadly thought father hadn't been trained to lord by his own father, perhaps that was the reason he was so adamant in teaching Robb all he knew. He wanted to make father proud, he knew, and he hoped the proposition he had planned for the Forresters would impress him. He had decided to bring his idea up during the meal. It had been a busy day, at least he would sleep soundly tonight, if a bit sore.

 

He dried up as he walked around his quarters, looking for his always-lost boots. The flickering candle-light hit the mirror softly, and for a moment Robb saw a stranger instead of his own reflection. He took a moment to contemplate his own shape; he had changed much the last couple of years. There had been a time he and Jon had been so alike, their differently colored curls the only thing to tell them apart from a distance, or so father had said. Now Robb was taller than Jon, wider, stronger. Jon had grown up lean and fast, definitely winning on agility. Robb stared at his pale skin, much warmer under candle-light, his blue eyes flickering with orange and yellow flames. He had Tully eyes, unlike Jon; His eyes were gray like a Stark, but darker, almost black. But under candle-light, they were alight, like the dusk of a dream he had of spring.

 

He shook his head at the flight of fancy, and instead focused on the changes he could see on his body. He flexed his arms and he smiled almost cockily at his own reflection. He no longer had the body of a boy, but a man he already was, of eight and ten. His arms were big and strong, bigger than Jon, who was sharp and lean, and also strong, in his own way. He flexed again, seeing the muscle's rippling under his skin. A man grown, one that looked little like Lord Eddard Stark.

 

Robb frowned, he always knew he didn't look like his father, and he disliked that Jon looked more like the Lord of Winterfell than he did; mother had mentioned several times how uncannily Jon looked like the young wolf she married. Then father would deadpan he was too old to fight Jon for her wife's attention, making his cousin blush in embarrassment.

 

But it was indeed true, Jon looked like he could be Lord Stark's own flesh more than Robb himself did. That was because Jon was pure Stark as far anyone could see. He looked like he could be Lord Stark's son as much as Benjen Stark's, and for the little she knew about his aunt Lyanna, her son as well. The blood of the first men was apparent on his dark locks, gray eyes and long and solemn face, traits that he only shared with Arya. She had been so sad one time, when Sansa kept calling her 'Arya horseface', crying why couldn't she be beautiful like her mother or sister. He and Jon had found her on the Godswood, curled up in a little ball by the heart three.

 

“You look like your Lord Father, and me.” Jon had said, but Arya had taken that like she looked like a boy, and that had not made her any happier. “I'm not a boy Jon!” She had repeated for what seemed the hundredth time. “I know you aren't!” Jon replied with a small pout, he didn't like to make Arya sad. Robb knelt in front of her sister, dusting off her hair of fallen leaves “Do you remember, the last time uncle Benjen was here; how he and father kept saying how alike them you and Jon looked,” Arya was about to interject again, but Robb shushed her. “And how their sister looked like them, and so much like you?” At that Arya looked down, her cheeks flustered.

 

“Lyanna Stark was very beautiful.” Arya said with a bit of apprehension. “I don't want to be as beautiful as her! I don't want some crazy dragon to steal me away!.” Robb and Jon smiled at Arya's comment, even when in reality that had brought so much pain and death for the entire continent. “Don't worry Arya, your attitude will keep men away.” Robb said and started running quickly, Arya swiftly giving chase and shouting after him. Jon remained by the godswood, a sweet smile on his face. It distracted Robb enough that Arya finally caught him with triumphant boast. They finally shooed her back to the castle because septa Mordane was starting to get worried. Arya did not care until Robb pointed out that she would tell mother if she didn't show up. That made Arya run back to the castle very fast. “You always know what to say to her.” Jon said to him from his spot by the heart tree. “But it is you who always know if something is bothering her; We are a team.” Jon had smiled at that, and Robb treasured that moment.

 

After that Sansa's jives didn't seem to faze Arya as much, and Robb could see the satisfaction on Arya's face when Sansa got frustrated her sister didn't pay attention to her.

 

Robb started dressing, the colors of house Stark looking at place over him, even if he looked more like a Tully than a Stark. Once Robb had wanted to dye is hair black, to look like his father and Jon. If he was to be the Lord of Winterfell some day, he should look like a Stark, besides red hair was girly, like mother and Sansa's. He had been around nine then. Now he didn't worry much for his hair, but he still wished he looked more like his father. Robb was almost all Tully when it came down to looks. It was such a childish thing to be bothered about, and he had felt foolish when when he had told Jon about it. “I like your hair,” Jon had said with no worry, simple matter of fact. “It's curly like mine, but pretty.” Robb had blushed a bit thinking Jon had called him pretty, although it was not what he had said. Jon had remained impassive and kept talking. “The wildlings call it kissed by fire, and it's good luck.” Robb hadn't heard that before, and it wished it to be true. He gave it a moment of thought before reaching out for his knife and sheared a lock of his hair. He fastened it with some twine and handed it out to Jon, trying to hid the flush of his cheeks. “There. Now you can have some luck too.” He was around two and ten, but he still remembers the blank expression on Jon's face when he had said “Uhm, thanks.” It still hurt.

 

Robb shook his head, willing his childish foolishness away and wondering if someday Jon would stop popping on his head so often. He pushed his hair out of his face, giving pause for a moment. The ringlets were not the only Stark on him. Mother said he was honorable and duty-bound like all the Stark were, although that wasn't a physical trait. Ser Rodrik Cassel said Robb might get as big as King Robert Baratheon on his prime, but both his father, mother and uncle Benjen said he had all the strength and size of Brandon Stark. Tales of swooning maidens during the Tourney of Harrenhal by the mere sight of Brandon Stark were many and well known; the most lascivious ones even saying that the southern lands should have dozens of Stark bastards of Robb's age. Robb didn't like to think of all those bastards of his own blood not as lucky as Jon. Jon had said Robb better not be following their uncle Brandon's steps. Even when Jon seemed to be constantly worried about the servants and smallfolk girl making eyes at him, Robb was pretty sure he wouldn't. Robb let out a defeated sigh, finishing to dress up quickly.

 

He quickly left his quarters, he was already late, probably mother making the rest wait for him. He hastened his step, without taking much attention to his surroundings. He did not see Jon just entering the corridor from his right until they almost crashed into each other.

 

“Sorry!” Jon said quickly. Robb remembered too late that Jon's late guard shifts had ended yesterday, so he'd be joining them for supper. Jon attempted to pat Robb on the chest, but Robb stood there stiffly, making Jon retreat his hand. Robb didn't like it when they were alone, he had to stay away, even if it hurt. But now Jon was in front of him, his stern face relaxed, the hint of smile only Robb could see on his red lips. Jon was wearing his dark leather jerkin, the one darker than the other one. This one fit him better, showing off his frame. “Seems we are both late.” Jon offered as he stared walking again, Robb falling in pace next to him. Robb nodded, unsure of what to respond, his eyes avoiding Jon, who's hair looked particularly nice today. He could say that, but it would be weird. “You were really good today out there, Robb.” Jon said trying to dissipate a silence Robb had missed while stuck on his own thoughts. “Soon you'll put my ass on the ground with just one hit.”

 

At this, Robb's interest piqued. He'd say he had been close to felling Jon in battle a couple times this week, but it was the first time Jon admitted so. Feeling a cocky smile forming on his lips, Robb spoke “Of that I'll make a promise. Next time Snow, I'll win.” It was those moments on the courtyard where Robb didn't feel so awkward around Jon, because he knew exactly what he was supposed to do. Win. “Don't get cocky, Stark,” Jon shot back with a smile of his own, “You are still ways to go, and I am faster than you. And you still get tired quicker than me.”

 

Rob smiled, mischief taking front seat on his thoughts. “If you didn't squirreled your way around, it'd be easier.” Robb scratched his sparse beard, Jon looking intently, if a bit more serious. “Maybe I need to practice catching you.” Robb felt the rush even as he said the words, knowing he shouldn't have. But then Jon's grin grew wider, as if Robb had told him a secret to him and only him, like when they were kids. Robb smiled, and jumped to catch Jon.

 

Jon was quick though, and expertly avoided Robb's first swipe at him. The circled at each other on the corridor, and Robb cared little -too little- that they were two men grown playing like children. Jon didn't seem to mind either, if his smile was any evidence. Robb charged again, his heart beating fast, his whole body feeling the rush, and Jon dodged again, Robb's arms missing him by mere inches. He was too fast for Robb, if they kept like this, he was not gonna catch Jon. Robb put all his effort on the next attack, and he was quicker this time, and Jon slower, so he found himself with Jon prisoner between his arms, his back against Robb's chest, the back of his head pressed againts Robb's face. Robb knew Jon could twist himself away with ease, his grip was loose. He started thinking perhaps Jon was letting him win, after all the times Jon had beaten Robb on the courtyard. A victory was a victory, so what had he won? The edges of his mind darkened, vile and forbidden thoughts forming on his mind, or were they already there, awaiting for him at night? Robb buried his nose further into Jon's hair,and flushed his body against him a little closer.

 

“Do you yield?” Robb's growled on Jon's ear, surprising even himself. Jon was so close, he could feel the warmth of skin on his lips, so close, just an inch away. “Sorry, I didn't hear that.” Jon asked, and Robb barely heard him, his mind was yelling, telling him do as he wanted, as he pleased. Jon wiggled his arms under Robb's hold, and Robb was painfully aware that if he strengthened his hold, Jon couldn't escape. Jon wriggled again, flushing himself against Robb's length, making him feel a shiver from head to toe.

 

Jon smelled so nice, and Robb let out a sigh. “Do you yield to me, Snow?” Robb couldn't even hear himself. All he could hear were his thoughts, telling him to take what he wanted. Robb licked his lips, so close from Jon's ear. He could ask now, he was only an inch away, he could ask Jon to let him, or let Jon do as he wished with him. Suddenly Jon twisted his forearm, catching Robb by surprise as he dropped to the floor, making Robb miss his footing. Jon was well free by the time Robb had to use his arms to steady himself against the wall. He looked at Jon; he was staring at Robb wide eyed, clearly putting distance between the two of them. Robb felt his stomach churn. He was disgusting.

 

The silence hung forever, until Jon spoke, “Arya.” He said with a low voice, “She's very good at getting out of holds, and she's a good teacher, heh.” Jon supplied lamely, and Robb only nodded. He should apologize, for making Jon feel uncomfortable, but that would mean admitting things he didn't want to admit even to himself. He straightened his jacket and his curls, schooling his face from the shame that was eating at him. “We are late Jon,” Robb said evenly, struggling to keep his voice calm. Jon nodded, his face still flushed from the exertion; it had been an innocent children's game before Robb had ruined everything by taking things too far. Jon nodded straightening his jerkin, and they resumed their walk on silence.

 

It was becoming a pattern, the push and pull. How he could expect Jon to not realize the wrongness of his thoughts? Robb had to keep himself away, lest he'd make things awkward for Jon, it was not Jon's fault, it would never be, even when his dark thoughts whispered him so at night. If only he could keep Jon away; but he always came to him, missing him. Because Jon was kind, and worried too much about Robb, so the same distance he tried to keep called to Jon. Because Jon was loyal to a fault, and he would be so forever, even when Robb's awful thoughts disgraced their friendship at every turn. Sometimes his thoughts didn't betray him, and things were as they used to be, and he had his best friend back, that was all he wanted. They would be the children they once were, playing to catch each other. But they weren't children anymore, as much as Robb wanted the innocence of the past back. Distance was the answer, even when he could see Jon's face fall when he kept him at arms length.

 

Robb walked looking firmly ahead, not daring to put his eyes on Jon. They had know each other since forever, yet now, only distance was the answer. Why did Robb have to ruin everything? They were like brothers, he couldn't, should have these thoughts. _Like,_ the word hung like a taunt from the ceiling of his head. People liked to say that; close, _like brothers._ But they weren't. Robb always felt that difference, stark and clear for what he felt for Sansa and Arya, then Bran and Rickon, compared to what Jon meant to him. For Robb being a brother was to take care of his little siblings, but with Jon, it was always about having each other's backs.

 

He used to fee guilty that he didn't saw Jon as his brother once, because he felt he was keeping him outside. Yet he and Jon had a closeness he didn't feel for his siblings. They were something else. Cousins. Was that it? They cared for each other, lied for each other, held each other when they had been afraid or happy. They were equals, as ridiculous as that thought would sound to other nobles, being equal to a bastard. Robb always hated when Greyjoy called Jon a bastard, yet now Robb hated himself for calling Jon _Snow_. It was so self-indulgent, slighting Jon like that, even if for those seconds he could pretend Jon wasn't his own blood. Cousins. Still, they had been raised together, that made it wronger, somehow. Did it? Sometimes he could swear that Jon wanted to say something, ask him, But silence was better. Robb didn't had to admit his wickedness, and Jon didn't have to realize Robb was disgusting. The awkwardness of the present was better; it was at least unknown. They could pretend things were like they used to be, instead of admit they could never be.

 

Mother used to say that they were inseparable, and would be so forever. Robb sped up, needing the distance, and Jon didn't try to catch him. Eventually Robb crossed the dining hall doors, and when he looked back for a second, there was no Jon behind him.

 

**Jon**

 

“Why do Robb and Jon get to drink wine?” Arya pouted. “This mutton is dry, I need something to wash it down with.” She pointed, surprisingly convincing.

 

“Have some water then.” Lady Stark spoke calmly, yet her tone was clear. Settle down, Arya. “Mutton with water, mother?” Arya bristled with indignation, if albeit too comical. Yet Lady Stark couldn't resist and she let out a small smile, shaking her head in defeat. “Alright, you can have one sip from Robb's cup. One.” She made very well that point. Arya beamed and grabbed the cup that her brother offered her. She sipped carefully, and long. “I think that's enough, little wolf” Robb said gently pulling the cup away. Lady Stark shook her head amused and Lord Stark gave one of his rare smiles.

 

“Good stuff.” Arya said with incredible nonchalance. Her eyes fell smugly on Bran. “Bran,” Jon asked from his seat, “Do you wanna ask your lady mother if you can have any?” Bran shook his head, a slight grimace of disgust on his face. “Last-last time uncle Benjen was here,” He scratched his nose. “I asked for a sip of his cup. But he was so entertained talking with mother that I ended up drinking most of his cup.”

 

“That explains why you were ill the next day.” Lord Stark said with a small shrug. Lady Stark just gave Bran a stern nod, but didn't prod the matter any further. Bran let go a sigh of relief, and continued eating his mutton. “My I have some, mother?” Sansa asked, and although the question was directed to her mother, her eyes were firmly on her sister; Arya on her part, just looked at her with smugness. Sansa was a true example of a proper lady; as Arya told it, her needlepoint was the best and she hated it. Sansa and Jon didn't have much in common, but she had always been kind to him. When they were younger, she liked rope him on her princesses and knights games. She kissed him after she valiantly rescued her from the thieves or sellswords, or dragons. He remembered her lips were soft and moist. One day she had deemed their games 'improper for their age' with Sansa blushing and saying she did not wish to cause her dear cousin any troubled thoughts. Jon had shrugged and said it was okay, but apparently that had bothered Sansa and they didn't spoke for almost a week. Things returned to normal after that, although he still remembered Sansa being mad at Robb for almost a month. In truth, Jon didn't understand Sansa much. She was a highborn lady, raised to be pleasant and charming. Jon thought that was alright.

 

“Jon, might I have a sip of your cup?” Sansa asked, a bit of blush on her cheeks. Jon quickly sought for Lady Stark's eyes, and she nodded. “Sure.” He said, and Sansa delicately took the cup. Arya's eyes were fixed on her sister, and Sansa on hers. For all the proper lady Sansa was, when it came to Arya, she was all wolf, ready to fight.

 

Sansa took a sip, and her face scrunched, a small cough escaping her. “Too strong for you?” Arya said with barely conceited smugness. Sansa gave her a leveling stare, and took a prim sip, daintily putting the cup back in front of Jon and touching her lips with a napkin, to dry any stains Jon knew were not even there. “Not really, I was just taking time to taste it.” The jab was subtle, but Arya's ears burned all the same, “Thank you Mother.” Sansa smiled to Lady Stark, who brimmed with joy to her well behaved and polite daughter. Arya sulked on her chair, her eyes sharp on her sister.

 

“Father,” Robb said, pushing away the malaise that was starting to form on the table. “Mother has told me Rodrik Forrester is passing through Winter Town and he'll be there for a couple of days more. I don't think we have had House Forrester in Winterfell. Do you think it's a good idea inviting him and his escort to the castle? We have had House Glover's other vassals these past few years.” Robb supplied, and although his voice was firm and lordly, Jon could see the desire to please his father.

 

Lord Stark seemed to give it some thought, but didn't seem to be keen on the idea. “I don't think so, my son,” He said apologetically. “I assume you are interested on increasing our supply of ironwood.” Robb nodded, and Jon was surprised to realize how uninformed he was from the needs of Winterfell compared to Robb. “House Glover might see it as a disrespect, to invite one of their vassals over them.” At this, Robb smiled confidently. “That's why I intend to send Rodrick Forrester back to Deepwood Motte with a formal invitation for House Glover to visit. I truly believe Winter Town and Wintefell will be needing a increased supply of ironwood as Winter arrives.”

 

“And it's smart to charm a small house with the consideration of a visit, made casual enough to not step in any toes,” Lady Stark took a sip of her cup. “And have then bring a personal invitation to House Glover would definitely ingratiate them.” She smiled, her eyes beaming with pride. At this Robb did blush. “And we do need that ironwood,” he said.

 

Lord Stark laughed, raising his cup to his son. “Well thought, my son. I'll have Jory put together an escort for the Forrester heir.” Sansa let out a small yelp, calling attention to herself. “I, Jeyne says Rodrik Forrester is very handsome,” at this, Arya rolled her eyes but Sansa was too beet red to notice “She'll be glad to know he'll visit the castle.”

 

“Master Aemon says the Forresters are also descendants of the First Men, right father?” Lord Stark nodded, and Bran now had become excited as he spoke to the table. “They are a small house, but Barthogan Forrester was a great warrior during the war against the faith militant.”

 

“Barthogan was a Lord of Winterfell, dummy” Arya said with a scrunch. “That's Barthogan Stark, and he died when the Skagosi tried to rebel, and that was almost a century later.” Bran said with confidence, and his parents beamed with pride. “But well, Barthogan Forrester might have been a great knight if he wanted to, but he was too devoted to the old gods.” At that Bran gave pause; Jon knew he wanted to become a knight, but even when Lady Stark taught all her children the faith of the Seven and the Old Gods, for some reason she preferred Bran to know more about the Old Gods. Bran seemed to be okay with that, but then the issue of knighthood had arisen.

 

“Wait? Isn't that the Barthogan that slept with a bear?” Arya said out loud, making Sansa spit her mutton and chide her. “Arya! That's inappropriate!” Sansa's cheeks matched her hair as she drunk water with heavy gulps. Lady Stark just shook her head, but the rest of the table couldn't suppress their laughs. Even little Rickon started laughing, even if he probably didn't know what was happening.

 

“I keep wondering who tells you those stories” Lord Stark rolled his eyes, but Arya remained mum. “It was not a bear, Arya,” Bran said prissily, mad at being interrupted, “It was a Mormont, uhm. Elric Mormont.”

 

“That's a man's name.” Arya said with a frown. Lady Stark raised her eyebrows slightly, yet her eyes were firmly on her plate, though Lord Stark continued eating nonchalantly. Jon was about to tell Arya to just let Bran tell his story, when he caught sight of Robb; and his suddenly pale face. He had hoped things had returned back to normal with Robb, as normal as they could get now. Jon was keenly aware of the distance that got larger and larger between them. Something had happened on the hallway though, something Jon didn't quite understand; between what he secretly wished and knew couldn't be, and what was true. But it was almost always with that when it came to Robb. They used to be so close, yet now; the question hung unsaid on his mind until Bran broke the silence. “He was!” Bran said sitting upright, “Master Aemon says they were really close friends and companions and that's impolite to jest about that,” Bran's indignant pitch was not feigned. “They were true northmen and they they died gloriously in battle, and they were honored by their houses!”

 

“That's true Arya. We do not disrespect people's memories with ill-intended tales.” Lord Eddard said sternly. Arya seemed to take this into consideration for a moment, but then spoke again. “But they did sleep together, right?”

 

“By, the gods Arya!” Sansa said with a huff, “You are so embarrassing; you don't even know what that means.” At this Sansa's face reddened and she averted her eyes. “I do!” Arya answered defiantly. “Like mother and father do!” At this Lady Stark had to cough and chase her mutton with a big gulp of wine. Jon really wanted for Robb to join him on his amusement, but Robb continued eating quietly, his face fixed on his plate. Jon felt a twinge of sadness, not even a single glance Robb now gave to him.

 

“The Seven do not look kindly to that sort of thing.” Sansa said flustered but hoping to end the discussion with her argument, yet not Arya nor Bran thought that a definitive answer. “Mother! Tell them”” Sansa urged, but Lay Stark's answer wasn't an answer at all. “The Seven look down on many things.” She then took a long sip of wine, clearly not interested on bringing the seven to the discussion.

 

Lord Stark gave his lady wife a look, asking for permission, and she gave her a small nod although her face remained closed. “The Seven may have many rules,“ Lord Stark's voice, although lordly and composed as always, sounded as close as a eye-roll from him looked, Jon thought. “But The North's Gods, the Old Gods, don't have rules about that sort of thing.”

 

Arya nodded, satisfied with the explanation. “Well, it makes sense. What kind of warrior would be happy with a fragile woman sitting at home when he can have someone watching his back? Right Bran?” Jon drunk of his wine to silence his own thoughts. Would he ever stop wishing for things he couldn't have? He drunk another sip.

 

“I guess.” Bran said, although not entirely convinced. “I mean, there's spearwives- and, the Mormont ladies, so- And, what's wrong with a knight wanting a fair maiden waiting for you at home?” Bran sounded as dreamy as Sansa with that one, and she nodded, a small sigh escaping her lips. “Urgh.” Arya scrunched her nose, “Hey, what would you prefer, Robb?” For some reason, Jon's eyes quickly fell on his cousin, awaiting for the answer with curiosity. Robb froze for a second, but then raised his face, a smile on his face. Jon frowned, that smile wasn't real. “I don't think I have to worry about that, as Heir of Winterfell, I have to marry a Lady of a noble house. With luck, I'll have a couple options that would benefit our House,” Jon could see that even if Robb's face seemed relaxed, his fist around his knife wasn't, “And if I'm luckier, I'll be as happy as mother and father have been, right?”

 

Lord Stark nodded contentedly, proud of his son's sense of duty. His answer appeared to make everyone on the table happy, and Jon felt so alone thinking whatever Robb had said wasn't something he truly believed. Then he caught the reflection of those doubts on Lady Stark's face for a moment, and he knew he wasn't as alone.

 

**Catelyn**

 

Her back hit the softness of the bed with vigor, a satisfied sigh escaping her lips. Her breath evened, and she could stay basking on the feeling of fullness for hours. But cold suddenly hit her. I miss the warm summer nights of Riverrun, always will _,_ she thought with resignation. Before she could cover herself, furs were already being placed over her naked body. Her gallant Ned placed a soft kiss on her forehead as he tucked her in. He stood up and walked to the hearth, his body still gloriously bare, making her desire rekindle. No matter how vigorous their lovemaking was, the sight of the strong man she called husband always made her want for more. _Congress does not require desire from the woman's part._ The phrase hung on her head for a moment, and it seemed so laughably, and evidently, untrue that she let out a chuckle. In her youth, Catelyn never had thought blasphemy would make her chuckle, but a lot had changed since she had came to live in the north.

 

Ned made his way back, giving Catelyn a sight of his equally glorious front, and lied next to her on their marriage bed. The warmth of the room was perfect for Catelyn, so that meant Ned stayed above the covers. “My dear husband, enduring the heat just to make me happy.”

 

“Always, as long as I live, my dear Cat.” If there was a thrill that drove Catelyn mad with heated fondness, was her sweet, stern Lord of Winterfell whispering sweet nothings to her ear. She prayed silently, not to the Seven, not the the Mother; but to the Old Gods, to the Gods of Ned's ancestors, to the gods of the First Men and the Children of the Forest, to leave her with child. _Let me bring another Stark to this world, let the blood of the First Men run abundant through me. I owe you so much, and I owe him so much love._ She prayed for his seed to quicken on her loins. _May the blood of the First Men rule the North as long as you see fit._

 

He broke her silent prayer with a tender and deep kiss. _My Dutiful Ned._ They lied in bed, content in their silence for a while. They could definitely fall sleep right then, but there still where things to talk about. Surprisingly, it was Ned who spoke first.

 

“Robb is coming into his own quickly. He is growing strong and honorable,” He said with a smile.

 

“He takes that from you, Ned”

 

“And he takes his smarts and pretty hair from you. He'll be a great Lord, much better than I have been.” Catelyn could only feel fondness at the lack of self-deprecation on Ned's tone, only pride for his son. “And I hope that doesn't happen until many, many years from now.” She said with a hopeful smile.

 

“Let's hope,” Ned leaned on his side, facing her, his visage pensive. “He's becoming quite popular among the women on the castle. Perhaps it has come the time we find him a match, someone he might get to know before taking any decisions. He's just eight and ten, still no need to rush it.”

 

“Perhaps is a good idea,” Cat conceded, but there was something on her mind, nonetheless, Ned was on a good path. “Our children are coming of age; it would be prudent to hold festivities with the intent of finding suitable prospects for them.”

 

“Sansa is only fifteen.” Ned said apprehensively, but Cat just smiled. “It is so they can meet people their age. They don't get many people to converse with as they'd do on a southern court. And it's only to see what's out there. Also, you know Sansa would love it; she'd cry of excitement.” Ned gave her an affirmative gruff, and she patted his face tenderly. Catelyn once thought of marrying Sansa to a Shouthron Lord, it was true that her lovely daughter would bloom in the south like the beautiful flower she was, yet those notions had passed with time. The Starks belonged to the North, even if Cat knew how Sansa desired a life of southern royalty. This would certainly disappoint her, but Cat was already thinking of vassal houses to the Manderly's that would have a suitable heir. White Harbour is not King's Landing, but Catelyn had to admit it was even more beautiful and lively than her own Riverrun.

 

“The Karstarsks have been pushing Alys for years,” Ned said, breaking Cat's thoughts, “Perhaps she should be considered.”

 

“Robb has clearly not shown any interest on her.” Alys may be rather slim and tall, but Catelyn had always admired her spirit; there was a lot of Stark blood in her. But it was true that Robb showed no interest in her beyond friendship and politeness. It was also true that Robb showed no interest in any woman as far as she knew; and Catelyn had ears and eyes everywhere in the castle. She'd wished to pretend that her son was so honorable that he'd never sully a maiden's honor, but when a scullery maid of questionable reputation and heavy breasts had “accidentally” caught her gown on a loose nail, “casually” revealing her voluptuous assets as Robb passed by and was compelled to help her. She had been all shy glances and coy smiles; undoubtedly hoping to at least get a bastard on her belly. But Robb had been completely gallant- and indifferent.

 

And they were really large breasts.

 

Catelyn sighed, convinced she had spent more time looking at the scullery maid's breasts than her son. “What's the matter Cat?” Ned asked, seeing her lost in thought. She thought about saying nothing, and telling him to go to sleep with a kiss. But then it wouldn't be how it had been for almost ten years. Once the gods had chosen to pry their secrets away, trying to keep more seemed foolish. “I don't think Robb would be interested on any maid.” She said trying to suppress the shame her southern side wanted to conjure. Ned looked at her, his serene face becoming sad. They both knew it was not about what Robb felt or wanted; but about what his duty was.

 

“You knew for sure today at dinner, didn't you?” Ned asked and Catelyn nodded. “He's as honor and duty bound as me.” The sadness on his voice was painful. “He'll do as he must, but he won't be as lucky as me.”

 

After that silence fell, and they embraced as the night deepened. _My poor Robb,_ Catelyn thought with sadness. Being the Lord of Winterfell was his duty and legacy, unavoidable, fathering children with a woman he would not desire. She felt the pit of emptiness on her stomach. Could life be bearable without the heated embrace of the man she loved? She wanted to think it would; with the love of children and a companionship that although not fervent, would be constant.

 

She closed her eyes, resignation in her thoughts. _Let family be enough for him._ She really hoped most of her children stayed close, but she smiled knowing Jon would always be by Robb's side. Catelyn's eyes opened abruptly at the realization. _You two are inseparable, and will be so forever._ She often said it to Robb, and she had said to Jon one day as well, when he had embarrassedly told her that he and Robb didn't spend as much time together as they used to, as if her son had been avoiding Jon.

 

“Whatever is happening Robb, don't push Jon away,. He has always been there for you, and you for him.” She had said to Robb, “You two have always been as close as brothers could be.”

 

“But we aren't.” Robb had replied quickly, and Catelyn almost felt sad that Jon might be right. But when she could almost see Robb's eyes begging her to agree, she knew something was amiss. “No, but he is still your best friend, isn't he?” To that he had quickly agreed, a smile on his face, “Always,” he said, his face caught on wistfulness.

 

Catelyn blinked heavily, seeking the warmth of Ned's body instinctively, flushing herself against her husband's sleeping form. She wondered if she was only imagining things. Yet she couldn't help herself wonder if the reprise of the song rearranges its accords.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote in the north's stance on queerness to be a big "meh, it's okay" because I don't want this story to be about gay angst. Lord I have enough of that myself! Jon's gender, although it informs his character, their dynamic and interactions, wouldn't change Robb's issues greatly; Marrying his bastard cousin would bring all the shame to the Starks if Jon was a girl. But Jon is male and Robb can't even marry him, not in any way the southern laws and gods would allow it, so it's even more out of the question.
> 
> Next Chapter!: Robb meets a the charming Lord Forrester, Jon suffers because of it, and a new PoV character learns about Robb's feelings.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Robb seems to find a respite from his own self loathing, Jon can't seem to get hold of his own feelings.
> 
> And someone has a vision of a winter prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayy, thanks for all the lovely comments and kudos on the first chapter! Since I realized that I only have like half of chapter left to write (now, editing is a whole other beast...) I think the chapters will be published more often than once a week (I hope). 
> 
> Enjoy this chapter, and feedback is greatly appreciated!!
> 
> Also, I drew some Robb's
> 
> http://ramavatarama-o-rama.tumblr.com/post/148240610659/so-my-doodles-today-were-about-robb-starkrichard
> 
> Red hair Robb forever.

**Robb**

 

He fought hard to suppress the yawn caught on his throat. He couldn't do much for the dark rings under his eyes. “Robb, perhaps you should rest,” His mother had said worriedly upon seeing him that morning, “The escort your Lord Father sent for Rodrik Forrester is enough.”

 

“Perhaps, but we do need to size him up, and I know I can get a truer read if he's not measuring his every word and thought. And that will happen once he is in Winterfell.” His mother hadn't debated his logic, but she was still worried about his tired demeanor. He could brush it off all he wanted, but his lack of rest was apparent. Most days, Robb could tire himself to the bone and let sheer exhaustion carry him to sleep, but father had needed him yesterday in his solar to discuss a prompt solution to the land disputes east of the Dreadfort, they couldn't let Lord Bolton drag that any longer, or it would end in bloodshed. He didn't have the time nor the weather to train after that, all his energy remained pent up. It wasn't restlessness that chased his sleep away, but his own self loathing, and vile, thoughts as usual. Robb looked up to the sky, it was a day like any other, if slightly grayer. He let out a sigh. In the light of day, his problems didn't seem as dire at least, he wondered why that realization never lasted until nightfall. In any case, he knew there wasn't much he could do about it. Except keeping his distance from Jon, that he had to.

 

The Ironwood banner of the Forresters broke the monotony of the dull gray sky with its rich silver on black, and soon he could make out the small party appearing on the hill. Robb awaited, his two men-at-arms flanking him holding his wolf banners behind, until he could clearly see the heir of the Forrester house. He only had three men-at-arms with him, so almost half of the group was Theon Greyjoy with the other two envoys Ser Cassel had sent. Theon might be disliked by many in Winterfell, but Robb trusted in him like a brother, and was keenly aware of the dark youth's charm. Theon told a joke, and Robb could hear the group laughing in the distance; Rodrik Forrester laughing with a wide and happy smile.

 

He assumed him to be the Forrester heir, at least. He had a full yet well groomed beard ending on a sharp point, his hair a light shade of brown. And he was very handsome; that lined up how Sansa had described him. Robb pulled the reins gently and his steed trotted confidently to meet up the arriving party. He truly hoped he didn't look too disheveled upon meeting the Forrester heir. Rodrik Forrester smiled upon seeing him -Theon's introduction confirming his assumption- and moved his horse closer.

 

“It's an honor to have you in our company; my father has sent me off to personally escort you to Winterfell.” Robb said conjuring all the charm his tired face could muster. If Rodrik Forrester's warm smile was any indication, he was succeeding. “The honor is certainly mine, and my house's.” The Forrester heir bowed his head in respect. “I speak for my family and father when I say how deeply grateful we are for this invitation,” Robb could hear the slight hint of trepidation on his guest's voice, so he let go a hearty laugh to set him at ease. “I assure you,” Robb said becoming Rodrik Forrester to look at him, “Your house's honor does not rest in your actions today, if that helps you.”

 

Rodrik Forrester seemed to give it thought. “If so, I assume they wouldn't hurt it either.” There was a hint of playfulness in his tone, and Robb had to smile at that. “It certainly wouldn't.”

 

As the group resumed its march through the road, the atmosphere turned jovial and cheerful. He could count on Theon to make men laugh; the right jokes, with the right amount of vulgarity. Rodrik Forrester was quiet, but engaged, his eyes attentive of everyone without being obvious. He was well spoken, carrying himself with the dignity of a lord, but at ease joking around his men. He was sure Sansa would be delighted to entertain him.

 

It was Jeyne Poole who had first came with news of the handsome Forrester heir to Sansa's ears, and soon the two of them had been obvious in their swooning. Robb always worried that Sansa seemed to grow apart from the rest of them as she grew older, but when she had almost embarrassedly told him about her and Jeyne's crush, Robb realized that Sansa still came to him to speak such things. In truth, it seemed more natural than Sansa trying to speak of such things to Arya. He worried that she and Arya had such a contentious relationship, and he was loathe to think Sansa would gladly leave Winterfell behind once she was offered a suitable marriage proposal. Even if it was the most likely outcome, he really hoped his sweet sister looked fondly at her childhood. She didn't get to do much in Winterfell that would appease her interests, so when his realization of the need of ironwood for the coming winter arrived, the opportunity arose knowing he could do something nice for Sansa. At her age, getting to spend time with a young and handsome noble, even so just seeing one, would delight her greatly.

 

“Just ask around for Ros, she'll get you a discount if you say I recommended you!” Theon boasted, and the men laughed, even Robb smirked, though he was already tired of hearing Theon's escapades to the brothel, and his insistence to join him. “Most likely she'll charge double!” One of his men-at-arms, Dugan, said, and the laughs started again. Robb shook his head, and just then realized Rodrik Forrester was intently looking at him. He quickly averted his eyes, almost embarrassed, and Robb could almost feel a blush coming on his own cheeks. “Sorry my lord, didn't mean to stare,” Rodrik Forrester said politely, his voice low, only for Robb's ears. He considered this, and he certainly did not want his mind to wander in the motive behind that. “I certainly apologize for my unkempt appearance. I did not get as much rest as it needed last night, very busy day making preparations.” Robb lied, only a bit.

 

“Then I'm even more grateful of your company, my lord.” Rodrik Forrester's stare was intense, and Robb had to smile widely, mostly to hide the gulp caught on his throat. Maybe Sansa wasn't the only one to be delighted by the Forrester heir.

 

There where thoughts on Robb's mind that he thought vile and wicked, thoughts that kept him awake at night. Rodrick Forrester smiled back at him, he had a very pretty smile. Robb realized that some thoughts might less wicked than others.

 

**Jon**

 

He drank from his cup, and the wine tasted sour, perhaps it had gone bad. Yet Robb, far away on the other side of the table, downed his cup with delight. Rodrik Forrester cracked a joke by Robb's side, and their end of the table erupted with laugh, even Lady Stark struggling to keep her composure.

 

“He's so charming!” Jeyne Poole said in a whisper to Sansa's ear, who was sitting in front of Jon. Sansa blushed heavily as she nodded, her eyes fixed on Forrester, mesmerized. Jon looked to his side, seeking comfort on his little cousin's constantly contrarian nature, but was disappointed to see her smiling as well. She seemed to sense something “What? He's funny,” Arya said with a shrug, and apparently cowed by Jon's expression, she returned to her plate quickly. Jon tried to have a bite from his roasted vegetables, but the taste was almost ashen in his mouth.

 

“If I brought him to the whorehouse, we'd get the night for free!” Greyjoy whispered to his ear, low enough so Lady Stark wouldn't hear him, and Jon just pretended he couldn't either. The part of Jon that wanted to believe he had been cast aside to the far corner of the table -thus justifying his sullenness- was childish. He was relatively in the middle, Robb and Forrester in front of him just a couple seats to his right, Vayon Poole and a Cerwyn third or fourth son in them. Robb in fact had asked him to sit next to him, but Jon had said Arya requested for his company first. She hadn't, but she most likely would have, Jon had said to himself. Robb and Forrester appeared to be friendly enough, no need to interrupt their bonding, Jon's sullen thoughts whispered darkly.

 

The two of them had been inseparable since their arrival. Granted, that was largely in part of the arrangements for ironwood Robb was so intent on setting; and he had done a pretty good job; Lord Forrester would have the final say, but his heir was more than happy to oblige to Robb's charming requests.

 

The wine was still sour on his mouth, but Jon downed his whole cup in one gulp.

 

“Well, the ironwood trees are as strong as as they are beautiful.” Forrester said and Jon realized he had missed the conversation, Sansa had asked something, but Jon had lost track. To whatever it had been a response to, it must have been utterly charming if Sansa's adoring face was any indication, “In truth, that's a quality of many things born in the north.” Sansa's face went redder than he had ever seen her, her throat making a very unflattering sound that she seemed unaware off. As the table laughed with Forrester's charm, Jon was keenly aware of his eyes; they had politely stared at Sansa, yet were now unnervingly set on Robb.

 

Robb drunk his wine with a goofy smile, his cheeks almost as flushed as Sansa's. “Bran,” Lord Eddard said as the laughter calmed down, “Didn't you have a question for our guest?” his voice was gentle, and Bran nodded effusively, if a bit shy from his seat across Arya.

 

“I, I have read about your ancestor, Barthogan Forrester. He was a great warrior and a true northman! The tales say he was as great as any southern knight!” Brain said excitedly, and Forrester gave him a nod and a smile, which Jon guessed he'd called a kind one. “I'm-” Bran said with a little stutter before continuing. “Not sure why he ended up fighting in a war so far from home, when he didn't hold the seven as his gods.”

 

“Well, Barth the Demon, at least the southerners liked to call him that,” Forrester said gently, trying not to offend Lady Stark, “Just didn't like the idea of the southerners trying to impose their religion. Many say he did not have any reason beyond that, and that he didn't care for King Maegor the Cruel either. Barth just wanted to prove that he, worshiping the Old Gods, could be able to defeat anyone who said the Seven would protect them.” Forrester voice became unsure, his eyes seeking Lady Stark. Jon hoped she'd give him a warning look, yet she only smiled back pleasantly, seemingly not caring that Forrester was talking against her gods.

 

“They also say Barthenon liked to lie with a bear.” Jon said without finesse, and regretted it the second it came from his mouth. Forrester should not have disrespectful Lady Stark's gods, Was that a just reason for Jon's hostile behavior, right? The table became silent, Lady Stark's face worried, and Lord Stark's stern. Robb didn't look at him, his face hidden beneath his copper curls. Jon could feel the heat creeping up his neck, but before he could apologize, Forrester spoke, “Well they do say it; although the Bear in this case is a Mormont, Which makes it a half-true, I guess.” his voice was although gentle, firm, as his eyes leveled at Jon, who just wanted to run away from the dining hall and disappear. He could not endure Forrester shaming him now. Hadn't that been what Jon intended himself? Like a petty child?. “Which reminds me,” Instead Forrester smiled, looking again at Bran, “When Barth returned to the north, they say Elric Mormont punched him so hard he made him loose two teeth.”

 

“I thought they loved each other!” Arya said shocked, or fascinated. “Aye,” Forrester said scratching his beard, “The tales said that Elric was furious at Barth for going to war leaving him behind, and made him swear he'd never do that again, 'I'm not a maid to wait for your bones to return; if you die, I die by your side.” Jon felt his throat tightening at those words, and he tried to look for Robb's face, because he couldn't help himself.

 

But Robb didn't look back at him. The meal continued, Jon's lack of tact forgotten quickly as the conversation returned to its pleasant cadence. Jon looked down at his plate, feeling suddenly alone.

 

When the meal was finished, Lord and Lady Stark said their goodbyes. Sansa excitedly offered herself to escort Forrester to his guest quarters, seemingly not understanding the improper implications of that. “Don't worry, sweet sister, “ Robb spoke before she could be scolded for her forwardness, “I'll make sure our guest makes it safely to his rooms.” Sansa looked disappointed for a second before noticing Lady Stark's leveling stare. “Of course” She said primly, folding her hands in front of her, “It was a pleasure and a delight to have your company this evening, Lord Forrester.” Sansa curtsied shyly, her cheeks flushed, as they had been all the evening. Arya did the same, and that stung even more for Jon. What was so great about this Lord Forrester? He was not more handsome than Greyjoy, and no one was that charmed by him. He wasn't more handsome that Jon either; he was taller, yes, but slimmer, not as strong as Jon; he was sure he'd be no match for Robb on the courtyard. Maybe it was his beard that made him look lordly; it was not Jon's fault he couldn't grow one as full as him. Bran gave Forrester a happy nod and then the children where ushered away by Septa Mordane, Sansa and Jeyne behind them giggling like little girls and Lady and Lord Stark trailing behind their progeny, closely side by side.

 

“Shall we?” Robb said to Forrester, pointing the other corridor, the one that would take them to the guest quarters. Forrester nodded, his smile all teeth.

 

“Or we could make a little trip to winter town!” Greyjoy interjected with a sly grin. Robb just gave him a blank stare, lips tight and white. “I'm sure you'll do more than fine on your own, Lord Greyjoy,” Forrester apologized as he clasped Greyjoy's forearm as a goodbye, “I'll make my leave early in the morrow, I should get some rest. And I'm sure you do not intend to do so tonight.” Forrester grinned and Greyjoy returned the gesture. Greyjoy never smiled at Jon, nor that he wanted him to either. Greyjoy waved goodbye as he left, and Robb motioned Forrester to follow.

 

“I'll walk with you.” Jon spurted out when he realized Forrester was about to say his goodbyes. Robb started walking, without looking at Jon, Forrester by his side, Jon trailing behind like an attention starved pup.

 

“I apologize if I came off as rude earlier.” Jon said, in place of a reason why he had joined them. He was sorry about the incident, that was true at least, “It was not my intention to imply anything ill-thought.” Forrester looked at him, and his smile was -kind. He was polite and kind, and Jon hated him. “Do not worry, if I'm to be honest, your family has been far more polite than many others regarding my ancestor. Considering almost everyone asks about it, whatever slight you think you have committed is nothing compared to the words others have said.” He said, a small shake on his head, before returning his sights ahead. Jon looked for Robb's eyes, hoping he'd be glad he apologized for his rudeness, but Robb didn't look at him. Robb only had eyes for Forrester now.

 

They reached the guest quarters, and Jon just wanted Forrester to say his very polite goodbyes and leave him alone with Robb, they needed to talk; about what Jon wasn't sure but he couldn't deal with the thought of Robb avoiding his gaze. Jon had to apologize further somehow, he'd never wanted to disappoint Robb, never. He needed to apologize again and he couldn't do that if Forrester didn't get the fuck away.

 

“It has been good to know you.” Jon said stiltedly with all the politeness he could muster. He'd say his goodbyes and wait for Robb outside his quarters. “The pleasure has been mine.” Forrester replied with a bow. Jon gave Robb a tight lipped nod, who responded it in kind, before turning around on his heels and walking away. There was something amiss between him and Robb, and they needed to talk about it now. Why now? Today it felt pressing, something yelling at Jon he just couldn't pretend things were alright anymore. Whatever malaise had transpired between them, they had to fix it. He had felt Robb pull away from him for a long while now, and Jon had feared to name the reason for their distance. What if he couldn't fix it? What if Jon didn't fit in Robb's life as the heir of Winterfell? What if Robb didn't want to be close to a bastard now? His place was next to Robb, how could that not be true?. Jon's eyes felt like ice, burning in his sockets. He did not know what would be of him if Robb cast him away.

 

“Would you share more of your time, my lord?” He heard Forrester say on the distance, “I'm still very impressed by your proposition, I'd like to hear more about that.” Jon's chest pounded, and he had to speed up his pace so they couldn't hear the maddening thumping of his heart. “Of course.” Robb's far away voice sounded breathy and dreamy, just like Sansa's. Jon kept walking, his eyes stinging fiercely, until he heard the door behind close.

 

He stopped in his tracks, finally looking behind. The door was closed, the flames of the torch outside flickering and kissing the wood. Jon wanted to run back, and demand for Robb to talk to him now. His stomach churned, thinking how Forrester made Robb laugh so easily; as easily as Robb allowed himself to be charmed by him. Would they sit close? Whispering, their words low and conspiratorial? Would Robb ask for permission to touch his well groomed beard, Would Forrester offer his neck, ply like a maiden, desiring Robb's gentle touch?

 

Jon could taste the bile on his mouth, thick and sharp. He leaned on the wall, the prickling on his eyes revealing themselves as nothing more than angry tears. The churning on his stomach, the tightness of his chest, his anger against a man who had been nothing but polite and kind.

 

It was nothing but jealousy.

 

**Robb**

 

“We have always been cautious of our felling of ironwood; we certainly do not want to end up lording over an empty hill.” Rodrik said with mild distaste; even if he tried to keep his feelings about House Whitehill to himself, they had flourished a couple of times. Robb hadn't wanted to point it out though. He had known Lord Whitehill a couple years ago, and even if it would be impolite to side with anyone, he shared Rodrik's distaste. He hoped his judgment wasn't clouded by Rodrik's warm smile and bright eyes. Robb took a sip from the wine skin Rodrik had handed him; it wasn't a sweet wine, it was sharp and earthy and flavorful, “Ironwood barrel” Rodrik had said with a grin.

 

“I'm glad my business plan appeared suitable for you. I hope your Lord father agrees.” Robb felt pride on his proposal; instead of trying as much ironwood was available, and thus forcing the Forresters to cut their other trading treaties, he had seen the opportunity to ask for a small fraction during spring, and for more once winter arrived; a time were most resources went to supply grain and other foodstuffs. Rodrik had asked why would there be need for ironwood during winter, it doesn't burn. Robb had laughed, explaining that he had realized how much foodstuffs become ruined and lost to plagues and vermin. “As headstrong a squirrel might be, it won't be able to chew through an ironwood door.” Robb indeed had read many old ledgers and books, stating how much grain went to waste or made people sick during winter because it hadn't been properly stored.

 

Robb indeed had been planning for a while to make an offer to the Forresters with his father's blessing. Although he had to admit that Rodrik's sighting in Winter Town -and the breathy gossip it carried- might had put an urgency to it that it didn't have previously. He hadn't lied to himself when he thought it might had been a treat for Sansa to have such a sought-after bachelor in Winterfell, she had had a wonderful night. But Robb couldn't deny his own curiosity had grown with every swooning comment of how handsome Rodrik Forrester was.

 

Rodrik took the wineskin from his hand, a barely there touch of his calloused fingers on his own, but enough to make Robb's skin heat. “I'm confident he will; we'd be honored to help our liege lords in any way they see fit.” Rodrik took a sip without prying his eyes away from Robb, the blue of his irises alight in oranges and reds of the candle-light, pupils slightly blown. Robb was sure his were much alike, like mirrors. Jon's eyes were always dark.

 

“I, I feel I have to apologize again for my cousin's comment.” Robb said, sadness suddenly present on his mind. Robb knew he should feel perhaps embarrassed by Jon's behavior, but mostly, it was just that sadness, inky and heavy, “He's not usually that -rude.” He frowned, and perhaps Robb was a bit mad at Jon. “You two have grown together, right?” Rodrik asked, leaning back on the bed; he had slip off his jerkin, only his light tunic covering him. It was a warm night, Robb could agree, “He has been fortunate; not many highborn ladies would be welcoming of a bastard in their household, even if he's her lord husband's nephew.” Forrester said with admiration. Robb wanted to say they didn't like to use that term, but he didn't saw malice in Rodrik's eyes, besides, hadn't been Robb intent on calling Jon “Snow”?

 

“I've known him since forever,” wistfulness pierced the sadness for a moment, “But I guess it comes a time were children grow apart.” Only for a moment, though. Rodrik considered this, his stare intense; Robb had came to appreciate that intensity, and the honesty behind it. “Perhaps, for some,” Rodrik's smile was unguarded, “When I was little, I used to play in the woods all the time, mostly by myself. Then my father introduced me to Elaena Glenmore, and I was glad to have a partner for my games. We had a lot of fun, although when we played hide and seek, she always hid behind the same tree. It wasn't until years later, that she told me it was because she wanted to be found,” He smiled fondly at the memory, “Now, when I find myself, perhaps with apprehension, thinking about my future betrothal, I find the prospect of sweet Elaena being my wife not so worrisome at all.” Robb smiled at the openness from his new friend, even though whatever ideas he had conjured in his mind had been illusions of a naive boy. Rodik's kindness and smiles had been that, and only that. “Time changes us all, but I'm an loath to believe the bonds we make as children are so easily dismissed. Perhaps friendship remains true, perhaps it becomes something more. But I like to believe some people are in your life for the rest of it, if not in your heart.”

 

Rodrik's eyes fell into the hearth, his gaze fond and his smile gentle. Lying in there over the pelts, his hair tussled, his tunic open and revealing the trail of dark hair on his chest. It was a flustering image that Robb wanted to remember at least. Robb stood up from the chair, ready to say his goodbyes. He truly hoped Rodrik would find happiness with Elaena, perhaps he'd get to meet her someday.

 

“Already leaving, my lord?” Rodik stood up as well, standing rather close. He took another sip from the wine-skin, and only then Robb noticed that his cheeks were reddened, the blush hiding under his beautiful beard and continuing on his neck, and chest. “You could stay a while longer,” Rodrik pressed the wine-skin on Robb's fingers, almost holding his hand; he was holding his hand. Robb accepted the offer, and took a long sip of his own, making Rodrik laugh, his lower lip getting caught on his teeth, as if looking at Robb was pleasing. “My sister, Mira, she's serving as Lady Margaery Tyrell's handmaiden in Highgarden; she says it's beautiful down there. I'm sure Sansa would agree with her,” Rodrik's voice was playful, but with a shyness Robb hadn't heard before, “Mira always sends letters, telling me this and that about the lady Tyrell. One thing that remains in my mind, is her words about this conversation they had, and what Lady Margaery said.” Rodrik took the wine-skin from Robb's pliant hand. “Some women like tall men, some women like short men, hairy men, fat men; or even pretty girls, or both” Rodrik licked his lips. “And sometimes men like tall, and strong men. Ask Barth.” At that Robb chuckled, not caring about the flush that heated his face. “And some men like both too.”

 

Robb's smile widened, because there was no scenario where this was only in his head. Part of him, the responsible part of him wanted to think that it was unwise being in this position with a lord he did now know or had no reason to trust. Perhaps it was all a plan, a charade. But Rodrik's eyes were bright, the blush on his face heated and the wetness of his lips gleaming under candle-light. Robb inched closer, and now he could smell the sweet sourness of wine on his breath. It was incentive enough for Rodrik, and now his hand was gently placed on Robb's hip. This was no illusion. “Mira said that Margaery laments how little woman are allowed to taste, of what they might like before marriage. We expect purity from a lady, yet not from a lord. Rather unfair. We should all get to taste before our commitments, do you agree my lord?” The sudden, yet not unwelcomed, pressure on Robb's hip made him move closer. Their bodies touched, then pressed against each other. Robb let go an obscene sound from his lips as he felt a hardness on his hip. He was sure Rodrik was feeling the same.

 

The kiss started slow, and then it heated, Robb unable to suppress his smile. Any doubts he might have about what his body wanted gone with the cold winds. His hands roamed the width of Rodrik's back, feeling the hardness of his body under his fingers. It had taken Robb literal minutes to realize that scullery maid's intentions that time, and her chest had heaved open in front of him, And now just one of Rodrik's smiles made his groin stir. His thoughts died out, his mind filled with pure sensation; the scrape of hair against his mouth, the hair under his fingertips, the rough and wet mouth that kissed him like he was exquisite. It was perfect.

 

Almost.

 

Rodrik's hair was too short, too straight. His lips too thin, his beard too full, the muscles of his back not hard enough. Robb broke the kiss slowly, darkened blue eyes looking at him expectantly. Eyes that weren't dark enough. Rodrik was beautiful, handsome, a maiden's dream. But he wasn't Jon. And at the end of the day it was Jon all he wanted, wasn't it?

 

Robb let go of a sigh caught in a sob, and Rodrik gave him a worried look. Robb shook his head gently, a sad smile forming on his lips. “Thank you.” He said, truly meaning it, his hands squeezing Rodrik's shoulders. “I haven't had many kisses, but that has been the best of them all.” Probably. Robb said looking down, his hands still on Rodrick's shoulders. Still the spell was broken, and Robb distanced himself, Rodrick's hand dropping from his waist.

 

Rodrik shook his head, disappointment on his eyes, but his smile still gentle. “Aye, that was a very good kiss. But it seems that's as far as we'll go, right?” There was something playful on his tone, and Robb nodded good naturedly, before the truth of it all made him sad again.

 

“I'm in love with someone else.” Robb admitted in defeat. He didn't only want Jon, he loved him, he he always had. The want was new, but the love he could trace that back before memory itself. Perhaps that was the most vile of all his thoughts, because he'd always refuse to let that one go. “Lady Elaena is a possibility, a lovely future future for you. My heart already belongs to someone else, and I can't in good conscience go against that feeling” His voice and gaze dropped, overwhelmed by the reality of it, “Even when it is a foolish impossibility.”

 

He felt Rodrik's hand lifting his head. Their eyes met and his smile was comforting. Rodrik kissed him again, gently and short, just a peck, and it was lovely, “It is really something to behold, the Stark sense of honor. I will not dare make you go against it,” He let go of his face, and he missed that hand, even when he wished it was Jon's, “Thank you for a lovely evening, Robb Stark; it is far more than I expected from this visit.”

 

“Me as well,” Robb admitted sheepishly, before extending his arm. They clasped forearms firmly. “It has been an honor, Rodrik Forrester. I certainly hope this is not the last time we meet.” They said their polite goodbyes, Rodrik admitting he'd leave very early, thus they would probably not see each other in the morrow. Robb left the guest quarters, a smile on his face despite the sadness he still felt behind. He walked slowly, slightly embarrassed by the dampness he felt on his smallclothes. As the heat from the room and wine and lust left him, all that remained was the sad realization of his feelings. He was in love with Jon, his dear cousin Jon.

 

He had always loved him, that much was a true he never denied. But this love he felt, this was the love that burned through him like lightning, setting ablaze his heart and loins alike. He loved him, he wanted him. It was Jon's lips he desired, it was his touch he craved, the firmness of his muscles under his hands, the black curls from his head under his nose. But that could never be; Jon was his cousin, they had been raised like brothers, it was wrong, as wrong as desiring Sansa would be.

 

Even as he thought it he knew it was a lie, most of all to his heart. Jon had always been there, next to him, but he knew it wasn't brotherly love, even before that love was shaped by want. Jon was his companion, his strength, his accomplice, his friend. Perhaps even back then, Robb always saw Jon differently, like no one else could. They called Jon sullen and reserved, but to Robb that was just evidence that they didn't see Jon. They didn't see the inquisitive nature of his eyes, the attentive nature of his demeanor. He saw Jon, and he was his calm and his respite, the one that had always been there for him, just as the very stones of Winterfell had. Winterfell was the castle that would be his someday, but Jon had always been his stronghold.

 

And Jon loved him back, he knew that; yet not like Robb did, not with the same desire that burned him inside out. That had been evident, hadn't it been? Jon didn't seem to appreciate the idea of two men together, and as disappointed that made Robb, he was really loath to admit only that stopped him. Not the honor of his house, not the fact Jon was his own blood -he could fool himself away from that by calling him Snow-. If Jon wanted him, if Jon wanted him he would throw away every shred of honor and duty he held, and the sheer absolute of that truth made him shiver.

 

Perhaps it was the cold of the courtyard that made him shiver. Robb did not realize when he left the warmth of the castle. The cold air was soothing at least. He breathed in, letting the chill cleanse him. If only he could get rid of his need for Jon. It was Robb's duty to lord over these walls someday, it did not matter if he came to love, or even want, his lady wife, whomever she might be. He was just another link of the Stark chain, and he'd do what he was bound by family and honor to do, no matter what he wanted. Even if it wasn't fair.

 

His hands balled into fists, sadness and anger dancing within his chest. It wasn't fair, to be the Lord of Wintefell, and not have the one he loved because of it. Because of blood and honor and duty. But he could. If he was to be lord, he could command Jon to love him, whatever way Robb wanted him to. The nausea hit him hard, the revulsion for his own thoughts sharp and sour on his mouth. He disgusted himself. He did not deserve Jon.

 

“Robb!” Theon's voice broke the silence like a falling rock. “Be glad the scullery maid with the big tits was horny, if not, I'd already be gone,” Theon's hair was a mess, and he was fastening his belt, “My throat is parched still, though. What do you say? let's hit the winter town together!” Theon said cheerily, holding Robb by the shoulder. Robb wanted to run, but no matter how far he could run, his thoughts, the sad and the vile ones, would follow him anyway. Getting piss drunk seemed a good idea.

 

“Yeah. Let's go”

 

**Ros**

 

Perhaps that had been the best sleep she'd had on a while. She stretched like a lazy cat, unbothered by the chill of the morning, as usual. She grabbed a ribbon from the rickety nightstand and tied up her hair, letting out a breath, taking the time to be grateful for another day. She looked at the side of the bed, and it was a lovely sight. She couldn't deny she'd love to have more rested nights like the previous one.

 

She stood up and walked to the window, and then she could feel the chill that went through the cracks. Shivering, she grabbed her old shawl and wrap herself on it, the feeling of the well worn wool familiar on her skin. The morning sky was beautiful, blue as so rarely it was. She shivered again, thinking the bed seemed so warm still. Instead she started ripping pieces of old paper, carefully sticking them on the cracks she could see.

 

There was water and ale on the table, but she needed something warm; she'd have to go downstairs, and she really didn't want to be hounded with questions yet. She looked at the handsome man on his bed. Robb Stark heir of Winterfel, with his pale skin and russet curls and red lips was a beautiful winter dream.

 

She heard the noise coming form downstairs, nothing unusual, really, she just hoped it wouldn't wake Lord Robb; he needed to sleep still, and he did looked breathtakingly handsome on her bed. The noise became voices; a demand to be let in. It was woman's voice. Another slighted wife it seemed. But the voice, although commanding, was calm. The sounds died out, but Ros did not hear anyone leave. Then she heard light steps coming up the stair, slowly, stopping at her door. The knock was gentle, and Ros swallowed hard before opening.

 

She certainly didn't expect Lady Stark of Winterfell to stand in front of her. “May I?” The lady said, and Ros curtsied clumsily as the lady entered, closing the door behind her. She spared Ros one indifferent look before her eyes fell on her son. Ros hadn't felt this awkward since that time the miller's wife had shown up in the brothel and found her husband there; and they were both waiting for Ros to become available.

 

“Has he payed his tab?” Lady Stark asked with mild distaste, opening a leather pouch and fishing a generous amount of coin without waiting for an answer. “I expect this amount also buys your silence, for anything your lord might have done in his drunkenness.” Her voice was ice, and Ros was certainly cowed by it. Better to just grab the money and make herself scarce.

 

“Jon.” Robb said on his sleep and Ros couldn't help smile with sadness. He was haunted awake and in dreams alike, her poor lord. Lady Stark's face was not as gentle, sudden worry in her lines. “How much do you know?” She asked briskly and Ros had to look away, unable to hold her intense gaze. She sat by the feet of the bed, wrapping herself further in her old shawl, feeling suddenly exposed.

 

“A lot, milady,” Ros admitted. Lady Stark hovered above her, face unreadable, stone-like. Ros could have played dumb, but she wasn't sure either case would not end with her throat slit. She knew the heir of Winterfell had a secret, what would Lady Stark do to her to make sure that remained so? Ros knew it was a secret worth of some pretty coins and her petty life; but neither were the reasons why she wouldn't tell it.

 

Last night had been a cold night, no much business around. Ros wasn't tired still, so she had decided to work on her reading. She went to the chest at the feet of the bed and pulled out the old book, the one that traveler from the south had left years ago, before she even had come to work here; before her room had been her room. The cover was well worn and dirty faded blue, but she could see the faint silver lettering on it. “The Ice Dragon” she whispered the name softly, opening the old tome where she had left off. She grabbed a piece of paper from her breast, neatly unfolding it over the page; words, words she hadn't known and asked around for them. Once she had asked client she had thought kind to help her read her book, but he had just laughed at her. “Why does a whore need how to read?” She didn't grab the book for weeks after that. But curiosity won her over, as it always did. She knew the sounds words made, mostly, so she asked, when the men on her bed were idle and sated, casually, what words meant. Then she'd write it down, until she had found all the words she didn't know so far. She smiled, her fingers touching the place the new words would go, and the new sense the story would make.

 

“Ros!” The voice came from outside her door, excited. Her interest piqued, Ros closed her book and put it over the chest. She opened the door, Ella standing outside with a shit eating grin plastered on her face. “Theon is here,” In truth no one was so excited to see Theon, so Ros frowned slightly, “He has finally brought him! He brought Lord Robb!!” Ella let out an excited yelp, and Ros did as much when she saw Theon and Lord Robb coming up the stairs. Well, Theon mostly dragging Lord Robb up, but it was all the same. Ella combed her hair with her fingers, trying to get rid of her bed hair. She arched her back leaning on the wall, her supple breasts as perked as she could make her spine bend. Ros rolled her eyes, but struck her own alluring pose.

 

“Look what I brought you Ros! And you say I'm not nice.” Theon smiled cheekily, his face flushed from wine and ale, both strong on his breath. Lord Robb looked up, yet his face was downright miserable. Ros smiled anyway. “Aye, this does not mean you don't have to pay what you owe me” She made clear, but Theon just laughed.

 

“I,” Ella said sheepishly, utterly demure, “I could join you if you'd like, all to serve milords” She averted her eyes, flushing like a virgin maid. Ros did not know how Ella could flush at will. “Maybe next time Ella. We don't want to scare Robb here with too much too soon!” Theon said charmingly, and Ella pouted. Theon did not like her very much, her innocent girl act. Granted, it was very popular in general, but Theon didn't enjoy the lie. He often said he was tired of pretending.

 

Theon ushered Robb into her room and she closed the door, giving Ella a wink and she a middle finger in return. When she turned around, Robb was already on the bed, his face sullen, and scared. “Come on Robb, cheer up!” Theon said clasping his shoulder. “Come on Robb, let Ros take care of you. She's very good, she'll make it nice.” He said gentler this time, with real affection.

 

Ros crawled her way next to Robb in the bed, flushing her body against the lord. “I will milord, I'll be real careful.” Robb looked up, seemingly finally noticing her. His eyes went dark, and she could feel a hint of fear on the back of her throat. “You fucked Jon.” He said, almost a gruff, without taking his eyes out of her.

 

“Again with Jon,” Theon said exasperated, “By the gods, every time you two get mad at each other is the fucking end of the world.” He sighed, plopping to the chair across the side of the bed. Robb looked down, shrugged; sinking on himself. Ros could say any lie to make him feel better, it was her job. But maybe the truth was enough this time. “Milord, I did not bed your cousin if that's a worry,” She thought it was okay to say the truth. Jon had been clear he did not want her to lie, “He said he didn't want to bring another bastard to the world.”

 

“Urgh, of course he didn't,” Theon rolled his eyes, and wiped his nose with his sleeve, “The honorable Lord Snow.” He smiled at his own jape. Robb looked up, something dark on his eyes, but ended up just shrugging, a sad smile on his lips. “Alright Theon, out with you! Let me take care of Lord Robb here.” Ros stood up and yanked Theon off the chair, pushing him to the door.

 

“Alright, alright! I think Ella will have to do tonight.” Theon might not like Ella's acting, but she did have really nice tits, everyone agreed. “Take care of him Ros, do that thing with your hands, he'd like that,” Theon said seriously, with sympathy. She smiled and nodded, giving him a peck on the cheek and closing the door. Theon was crass, bitter and angry, but she always knew there was more beneath him. For one, he really did care about Robb, despite all the bitterness he felt at being the Stark's hostage.

 

She returned to the bed, Lord Robb's eyes lost somewhere beyond. He was very drunk, probably won't even remember this. Ros didn't understand why so many men got piss drunk before fucking, what was the point of not remembering what they payed for? If anyone should get drunk, was her. Although not with Lord Robb. She unfastened the cloak from his shoulders and deftly undid the laces of his leather jerkin. He allowed himself to be disrobed with ease; yet not with anticipation, but resignation. “Is this alright, milord?” She grabbed one of his hands and placed it on her left breast, the bigger one. She felt the poor attempt of a squeeze, and Lord Robb nodded absently. She caressed the stringy curls plastered in his forehead and pushed them back, and he looked at her. He looked so sad, so very sad. She gave him a comforting, honest smile, out of sympathy more than duty, and he returned it as much as he could.

 

“Can, can I kiss you?” He asked, and Ros felt a rush in her neck. Most men didn't like to kiss. His lips were soft and pliant under hers. She was soft, keeping her tongue to herself until he'd made the first move, although she could definitely encourage that. She lowered her hand and reached with her hand, her deft fingers reaching his crotch. What she found was, disappointing. “I, I'm sorry,” He said embarrassed as he broke the kiss, “Maybe I had too much drink.”

 

“Don't worry milord. It happens.” Although it did hurt her pride to feel such an uninterested cock under her hand. She asked permission with her eyes, and with his nod, she gently undid the laces of his trousers, and reached under his smallclothes. After a minute that seemed like an eternity, she was sure this was a lost cause. Not because she wouldn't give it the good old try if she though it would work, but because the infinite sadness on his eyes made her know it wouldn't.

 

She smiled thinly as she removed her hand, leaving everything in order and tying up his trousers. Robb looked at her, shame on his eyes, but she held his face, and ultimately encircled him with her arms. It had been a long time since she had given someone a hug so kind. He seemed to relax, breathing in the scent of her hair. She knew it smelled like bark and leaves, that was always a comfort to a northman. “I'm a shame to my name family's name. Sick, rotten to the core.” Robb said with a drowned voice, and Ros just hugged him tighter. She didn't have to comfort him, but her time was already payed. Well, not really, but that didn't matter. She wanted to. Lord Robb had always been kind and polite to her, the times Theon brought her to the tavern for a drink. “I'm sure you are not such things milord,” She said with sympathy, “None of us is perfect, but you seem better than most. All in the humble opinion of a whore.”

 

“You are not just-” Robb cut himself, cause she was, that was factual. “You always make Theon happy, and he's never happy.” Ros raised an eyebrow at that, most of the time they just traded witty barbs against each other and fucked. Though she had to admit their time was always enjoyable. “And your hair smells nice. Jon said it smelled nice.”

 

Someone once had said to Ros she was “Too smart; no one likes a smart cunt,” just before he punched her in the face. He had been right, though, smart cunts keep daggers under her pillows, and are good at catching things. “Jon was sweet. He brought me a pack of candied hazelnuts; we ate them together and he smiled. He doesn't smile much, but it is a lovely one.” Ros said fondly, and a bit jealous of who'd get those attentions for real someday. Lord Robb let out a watery laugh, his hands wiping nascent tears from his eyes.

 

“It is, it has always been.” His smile hid pain, and Ros could only share his sadness. The truth was clear and painful to her, Lord Robb was in love with Jon Snow. She did not wish to pry it from him, it was not her place to do so. “When we were little, I liked to think he always just smiled for me, and it hurt when I knew his smiles weren't only mine. How selfish is that?” He avoided her gaze, closing off, haunted by dark thoughts. That wouldn't do. She reached for his face, making their eyes meet. “We all have selfish thoughts, milord. I wish I had Ella's tits, or that hers would sag like a crone's. It doesn't mean I'm gonna pray to the gods for it.” She joked, and that brought a little smile to his lips. “If you were as rotten as you thought, you wouldn't pain yourself for such thoughts. You might not be who you think you should be, but who you are is not a bad man, milord.” That was vague enough, Ros thought. She did not want to presume to tell him things he might not be ready to tell himself.

 

His eyes shimmered, as if her words were absolution granted by a septa. “I love him, I want him,” He said, his voice filled with repressed emotion, “It is burning me inside out and it's going to drive me mad.” He shook his head, and he jerkily held it between his hands. His whole skin was flushed, from wine, from emotion, and the tears now fell freely down his cheeks. “And if I spoke of this to him, it wouldn't matter. If he hated me, if he loved me, it wouldn't fucking matter, because I have a duty to my name, my house, my family. If he loved me like I do, I, I wouldn't give a single care to my duty, I'd be his without a thought. So he can't ever know.” He took a deep breath, the opening of the floodgates leaving him empty. “Am I a fool to think that would be the case?” He asked mostly to himself, “He'd most likely be disgusted, he wouldn't be able to look me in the eyes knowing the vile desires I have for him. He'd leave, he'd leave and I couldn't live, not without him. So he can't know, he can't never know.”

 

They remained in silence, Lord Robb's tears drying up on his freckled cheeks, Ros' hands rubbing circles on his back, like her mother used to do to her when she had a nightmare. He seemed calmer, even less drunk. Sometimes saying things out loud was enough, specially when it was all that could be done about, really. And well, women of her profession are good listeners. Lord Robb remained sad, and he would probably for the rest of his life. “Milord,” she said, caressing the curls of his head lovingly, “I don't mean to be harsh. But life is hardly ever fair.” Ros decided she was past the point of professional distance.

 

He looked at her attentively. “Somethings are as they are, and there is no much we can do about them.” She said, looking around her room of rickety furniture and old clothes, and the smell of sex that never really went away, no matter how much incense she burned. “So all we can do is the best we can, find joy in the things we control, as small as they might be.” Ros realized she was giving advice to the Heir of Wintefell, this might be her weirdest night yet. Sure, it was expected of her to lend an ear, not so much to presume to know any better. But he was so sad, and once, these words had given her comfort.

 

“Is all there is, isn't it?” Lord Robb said resigned, yet not so weary as before, “Do as we must, as we should; and try not to be miserable.” He was tired, and not only because of this night; so she helped him to the bed, into the covers. She tucked him, his eyes already drifting close. “Will you stay?” He asked, and she nodded in response. She laid next to him without taking her clothes off, unable to remember the last time she had shared her bed so chastely.

 

He fell sleep quickly, unlike Ros, who remained awake well into the night, feeling a sorrow that wasn't hers, Lord Robb calling for his beloved in his sleep.

 

Now Lady Stark stood in front of the door and stared, her eyes hidden by the shadows of her cloak. Lord Robb's secrets were sad, but also dangerous. But the lady had nothing to fear, not from Ros. “I promise I won't say anything.”

 

“What, should I trust the word of a whore?” Lady Stark said as she broke her gaze from her and walked to the window. Ros thought she could feel offended, but in truth, who trusted in the words of her kind? The whole situation was very life and death, Ros knew, yet she did not fear. “One of my first memories is the sound of the bells the day lady Sansa was born, my lady. It echoed through all of the castle and Winter Town. Mum and me walking down the market, feeling the happiness all around us. It's one of the few happy memories I have of my childhood. The other one is when Lord Eddard Stark cut off my father's head after he beat my mother to death.”

 

“I'm sorry.” Lady Stark said, looking outside and not her, but her voice now gentler, as if Ros deserved it. “Thank you my lady,” Ros said with a smile, trying to push that old pain down. “Even if I'm just a whore, the Stark's are my lords, and I would never do anything to hurt them. Whatever I am, I'm still of the north.”

 

Lady Stark retreated from the window, her eyes now on her. It was only a moment, but she felt the lady saw completely through her. She said nothing, and Ros wanted to believe at least there was a bit of kindness on her face at the end. The Lady walked past her, placing the entire gold satchel on the nightstand. “If you ever tire of this living; come to Winterfell, or send word to me. Theon Greyjoy would probably be happy to help you with that,” There was a slight roll on her eyes, “There will be a place in Wintefell for you, if you wish so. We have a library, if that would be of your interest.” Ros snapped her gaze up, noticing Lady Stark's stare on _The Ice Dragon_ lying on the chest. Ros smiled happily, even if she didn't think she'd take the offer. Being a scullery maid didn't seem much of a step up over prostitution to her. “I'll send men up to fetch my son.” Lady Stark sighed; whatever conversation she would have with Robb, it would not be here. But she did lean on his sleeping form, placing a kiss on his forehead. “My sweet Robb; if it would make your pain go away. I'd rip out my own heart,” The words were low, barely a whisper, but Ros always had very good hearing. Lady Stark rose, and said her goodbyes with a small nod and smile. “If anyone asks; when everyone asks,” Lady Stark lingered on the door-frame, “Make him look good, but not that good.” Ros nodded, a sly smile on her lips, and then the door closed behind the Lady of Winterfell.

 

Ros grabbed the gold pouch and carefully hid it away, then sat on the bed, next to Robb. For some reason she looked around before caressing the russet locks on his head. He looked so peaceful, even when his eyes were still reddened by the tears he shed last night. She let out a heavy sigh.

 

It was not often a whore could feel pity for a winter prince.

 


	3. Three

**Jon**

 

“You know, you actually have to pay attention to keep watch” Jon heard the guard by his side say, Killan, his name was. “I am,” Jon retorted flatly, his eyes staring firmly ahead. Killan frowned, but said nothing and walked past him. It did seem that people kept avoiding him this morning. Also it did seem that Killan was right, because Jon hadn't even noticed the guard standing next to him. If he had been present enough to show surprise, it would have been obvious. Jon was... distracted.

 

His new shift had started early, as it had the last few days, yet today he had barely struggled to step out of the warmth of his bed; rest had not came to him last night and it would have been pointless to remain in bed. He pocketed his vest of the jerky he had grabbed as breakfast; he chewed on it lazily, more as to do something than hunger. He stood there, trying for a moment to actually pay attention to the white speckled vastness ahead, but his mind drifted as it kept doing all morning. The sun flickered weakly behind the clouds in the sky, a cold morning most likely to become a cold day. He stood on his post without much movement for a while, until he heard the noises coming from the courtyard.

 

Jon stared with suspicion from his perch on the wall as the Forrester heir walked through the courtyard, castle servants waving him goodbyes, his men then appeared from the stables leading the horses. They started packing their bags, tying them neatly. Lady Stark appeared from the castle, covered in her furs, she smiled at Forrester as they talked, a couple of errand boys from the castle carrying some bags for Forrester's men to tie to the horses. Gifts. Lady Stark said her goodbyes and returned to the warmth inside the castle. Soon Forrester would be gone, and that would be done with. Rodrick Forrester then looked up, his eyes catching Jon, and smiled.

 

Jon hated his smile, and wished he had never came to Winterfell. There was nothing he could do about that, but he did really wish Forrester hadn't caught him staring; now he made his way up the battlements, to Jon. Jon looked around, Killan long gone, and only he standing in that section of the wall. Forrester jogged all the way up, unnervingly jovial and charming. He missed the loose brick on the left side of the step's rest. Jon would have liked if he at least tripped. “Good morning Jon. Glad to see you here. Robb mentioned you were posted as a guard, that's very commendable” Of course Robb had told him.

 

“It's my duty to the Starks.” Some of us have to earn our place, he thought darkly. He didn't say it though, he did not wish to embarrass Robb again with his childish behavior. He had disappointed Robb enough as it was. He might not like Forrester, but it was unbecoming of him to show that. Even if right then he just wanted to punch him on the face. “Aye,” Forrester replied, holding his hands to his hips and letting the cold morning wind blast his face, “Though you don't have to prove anything. Everyone here cares for you, specially Robb.” Jon looked away at that, bothered that this man who had know Robb for a day presumed to speak to him of the relationship between them. “He told you that?” Jon asked anyway, embarrassed by the brittle shape of his voice.

 

“He -cares a lot for you. That much is clear,” Forrester leaned on the stone embrassure of the wall in front of him, breathing deeply through his teeth. Jon bit the inside of his cheek, trying to repress his anger. He was angry at this man that keep speaking of him and Robb like he knew, like he could ever know. Forrester's short hair danced in the wind, and Jon knew it wasn't fair; he was handsome and charming, how could Robb resist his advances? He had to take care of Robb has he always had, it was his duty. But he had already failed. After he left them in front of the guest quarters, he realized how stupid and naive he had been. Forrester wanted Robb, he had ensnared him with his charm, entranced him with his voice, like a whore would. Jon remained awake on in his bed last night, fighting the urge between stopping whatever Forrester was doing to Robb, and remaining still. What if he was wrong? Everything in his head might be an awful and inappropriate sexual fantasy he had came up with. But he could almost swear to the Gods that he knew Forrester wanted Robb, that made sense in his head. Regardless, Forrester would be gone, and they would forget of him ever putting his talons on Robb. If he did.

 

“I do care about him,” Jon said, unable to stop the hostility on his voice, “I won't let anyone hurt him.” He threatened, and he was satisfied even if it meant he'd have to apologize to Robb even further . Forrester frowned for a moment, but his face softened as quickly, and Jon hated him more. “I wouldn't hurt him.” He stated calmly, and Jon hated him again. “Last night we spoke, and drank wine, and laughed. That's all,” Forrester said without looking at him, his eyes lost on the horizon.

 

Jon's anger deflated. What should he be angry about. “Are you sure?” He asked still, for some reason. “Should something have happened?” Forrester retorted with an edge on his voice, his eyes on him, Jon couldn't hold that stare. Dared Jon ask if Forrester lusted after Robb? Or if Robb had... “I don't know. Nothing.” Forrester looked him with curiosity for a moment, but then returned his eyes to the snow-covered plains. “Does it bother that Robb enjoys my company?” Jon felt the heat rise on his cheeks, but he didn't avoid Forrester's stare. Last night Jon had been jealous, and even if in his mind everything was still a twisted ball of twine, he couldn't deny that. He was a little child who's friend was playing with someone else, that rung mostly true. He felt embarrassed, but it was jealousy alright. Even if Rodrik wasn't a winter revenant bent on seducing Robb away, Jon was still jealous of the attention Robb gave him.

 

“Yes,” Jon admitted, even if he didn't have to, “Since we were little, it has always been the two of us.” He said, and he could taste the smugness on his own tone. Why did that matter, why did he need to mark his territory? Jon was as petty as Sansa. “Aye, but you can't expect things to be always the same, right?,” Forrester said, and Jon hated him. For his sound advice, for his kindness even when Jon had kept being a petulant child, for his politeness at even deigning to entertain Jon's petty tantrums. He hated him because he couldn't hate him.

 

“Maybe,” Jon said, “I don't know. I want them to.” Jon fell silent. “They could be different, and that doesn't have to be a bad thing,” Forrester said, and Jon frowned. How couldn't it be a bad thing? The distance was real, and it only would grow with time. They would grow apart, and he would not have Robb anymore, little by little, until he didn't have him at all. He shrugged, torn between keeping his heavy thoughts to himself or accept the ear of a stranger to unload his sorrow. He had spent most of the time Forrester had been in the castle wary of him, yet now he was the only person he could talk to. “There's this -distance between us now, and I don't know why. I guess I always thought we'd be close.” Forrester looked at him, an understanding smile on his face. Jon sighed, shaking his head, “I'm sorry I've been an ass to you. Now you are wasting your time humoring my-” Jon took a deep breath, “-Jealousy.” What was the point on denying it any further. “I'm not used to sharing Robb's friendship”

 

Forrester gave him an incredulous look, and Jon felt he was missing something. “I think what you and Robb share is deeper than just friendship.” Forrester said slowly, as if making sure Jon heard every word. “Of course!,” Jon admitted quickly, because that was very true and it didn't have to mean anything else. “We have known each other all of our lives, and one day he'll be the lord of Winterfell -My lord. I'll always be by his side.” Jon felt glad saying that, if there was anything he really wanted, was to always have Robb's back. Even if Robb kept distancing himself, Jon didn't think he'd ever be able to leave his side. He shouldn't find such thought comforting, but in his place, it was all he could ask for. He belonged with Robb, and he would in any way he was allowed to. “I'll always protect him.”

 

Forrester smiled, shaking his head as if he had found what Jon said amusing. Jon was ready to feel embarrassed, but he couldn't see any sign of mockery on Forrester's face. He looked back at the courtyard, as his men waved at him. “I'm glad about that. I know you'll take good care of him,” He said to Jon, “You are indeed as loyal and dutiful your uncle says you are.” Jon blushed at that, but did his best to offer him a strong grip as they said their goodbyes. They grasped forearms, and Forrester made out to leave, but turned back to Jon, “You have to tell these things to Robb, you know that,” It wasn't a question at all.

 

Jon wanted to say he didn't have to, but he couldn't. So he remained silent, Forrester's clear eyes on him. “I hope -believe, you two will work things out,” He nodded with confidence, and Jon hoped he could feel as much of it, “Goodbye Jon Snow” Forrester said as he finished going down the stairs and back to his men. Jon watched him mount with practiced ease and soon he and his escort were trotting off. He gave one last wave to Jon as he crossed the gate followed by his men. Jon waved back clumsily, standing alone in the battlements.

 

He wished everything would be alright but he had still to talk to Robb. And that would be awkward. The question still hung over them every time they even stood together. There was no other solution than to ask why Robb pushed him away. That, or stay silent, and drift even further apart. Jon swallowed hard. He was tired of not knowing. He had to, he had to know the why. He thought at least he was allowed that.

 

And then maybe he could fix it, and maybe everything would go back to normal. But then Greyjoy came to bother him, telling him about his outing to Winter Town last night. Jon was ready to tune him out, until he head Robb had gone with him last night, and had stayed in the brothel. Fucking Ros.

 

“Robb told me wouldn't bed a whore.” Jon looked somewhere in front of him, making sure Theon couldn't see his troubled face. He had been so worried Forrester would have -defiled, Robb, and then he's told Robb had gone to the whorehouse? Jon felt hollow, he did not know what to think anymore. He saw three riders leaving the castle, it took him a moment to realize Lady Stark was one of them. “People change their minds.” Greyjoy said dismissively, but Jon's eyes were still on Lady Stark as she trotted away. “Come on, Robb doesn't have to tell you everything.” At this Jon turned to him, and there must have been something on his face that made Greyjoy step back. “Shouldn't have said that,” he said, raising his hands in surrender. Jon looked back to the road ahead. “You can say whatever you want,” He replied flatly. He heard a sigh behind him, and then steps moving away. Jon made a disgruntled sound, even Greyjoy knew something was wrong between Jon and Robb.

 

Jon kept standing on the battlements, his mind anywhere but his duty. He wasn't really thinking, he was tired of thinking. Of having his brain work without rest. He was tired of thinking about Robb, worrying about Robb, wishing Robb would tell him things as he used to. Wishing things to be as they used to.

 

For things to be just as they used to. That was what he kept convincing himself he wanted.

 

**Robb**

 

When he opened his eyes, Robb swore he would never drink again. He had been waken up by Ros, her voice gently letting him know that there were two men from Winterfell awaiting for him outside the door. He apologized profusely for sleeping in, dropping a few more coins on her nightstand for the inconvenience. She shook her head, saying it hadn't been one at all. She seemed genuine about that, but he wasn't sure he believed it. Not because of her profession, but because Ros was kind. He remembered, he remembered most of last night.

 

He said his goodbyes, thankful for her time. She leaned her head to the side, a smile on her ruby lips. “It was my honor, milord.” He nodded, repeating his thanks. As he was ready, feet on the door, she spoke to him one last time. “Your Lady Mother was here, milord.” She said in one fell swoop, then gave him a moment to process the information. “She send the men to fetch you. I do not know if she is downstairs or if she left.” Robb gulped hard. Nothing much to do except push through the mess. He nodded, too sharply, like a child playing soldier. Ros let out a soft laugh, and gave him a pat on the ass. “Good luck Lord Robb.”

 

The morning was bright, or perhaps it just seemed so as he shielded his eyes from the glare, the two men-at-arms walking silently behind him. His mother was waiting, mounted on her horse on other side of the street, her face obscured by a black cloak. One of the men, Dugan, pointed him to his horse, already waiting for him tied to a post outside. He also gave Robb an approving nod. He mounted his horse with some difficulty, knowing his mother looked at him intently from across the road. He could vomit, and he didn't know if it was because the hangover. She started moving, and Robb and the men quickly fell into pace behind her, back to Winterfell.

 

The ride back from Winter Town might had been the most awkward moment of Robb's life until that point.

 

As they rode at least he started feeling better, nausea almost gone, and the day didn't hurt his eyes much. He still felt his head clouded. Either way, he didn't want to think, about anything. He just rode, slower than the horses in front of him, almost trying to be left behind. His ears went red just of thinking what people would say when he entered Winterfell. Winter Town was bustling with people, perhaps people wouldn't notice. Then mother stopped and turned back to him, her cloaked head signaling him to come closer.

 

He did not want to enter Winterfell with his mother escorting him out of a whorehouse. He obeyed anyway. Slowly, he maneuvered his horse next to her, trying not to crowd the road. “I have to make some purchases, you go ahead on your own,” She said flatly without really looking at him. His chest tightened, he had never wanted to make his mother so disappointed on him. “Nothing happened,” He spat without prompting, hoping that at least would comfort her, somehow. Yet she looked at him only with sadness on her eyes, as if she knew it already. Robb felt cold, did her mother know? He felt nauseous again for a moment, until her voice commanded him to look at her. “Robb,” she repeated,her gaze stern. “While we are disappointed that your recent -bender, will affect your duties for the day,” She raised her eyebrow as she spoke, and Robb felt like a child being scolded, “Your lord father and I are not mad at you. Just don't be so careless. You are a man grown, we are not going to scold you.” Yet it did feel very much like such. She gave him a smile before leading her horse away. “Now go take a bath and eat something hardy,” She said before disappearing into the crowd, the escort trailing behind her, Dugan turning around for a second, his fist raised in victory. After they disappeared into the crowd, Robb looked around, and no one seemed to be paying him any attention. With a sigh, he lead his horse back to Winterfell.

 

It was rather disappointing to enter Wintefell with no one pointing at his shame. The guards just nodded at him, one even grinned at him. The rest of the servants hardly paid any attention to him as he rode to the stable lazily and dismounted slowly, still expecting something, to happen. “So how was it?” He almost jumped as he heard the words. Theon's slim frame was leaning on one of the stable doors, his eyes wide with anticipation. Robb shrugged as he removed the chair from the horse and set it aside. He did not want to talk about last night, specially with Theon, but when a stable boy arrived to take care of the horse, there was nothing else to delay that talk.

 

“I, I don't remember much.” Robb said without looking at Theon and walking away, towards the castle. Theon gave pursuit soon, seemingly unaware that Robb didn't wanted to have that talk. “Come on! You must remember anything! Something?” He suddenly sounded worried, and Robb stopped to look at him, “Maybe you shouldn't have drink too much.” Robb squinted his eyes at Theon, but he really had no reason to be mad at him. It had been Robb's idea to get piss drunk, and even Theon had told him to pace himself. But Robb just wanted to not feel last night. Unfortunate all that drink had done little to dull his pain, or even memory of that night. But at least gave him an excuse to not get into details. “I agree. And now I feel like shit.” Robb said flatly and returned his march, Theon following him without saying much for a while.

 

“It must have been nice, I guess. Ross is good like that,” Theon finally said as they entered the corridor. He seemed to latch to those words for a moment, but the silence returned. Robb continued walking without speaking, until they reached the stairs to his quarters. “I'll leave you to clean up then,” Theon said as Robb took the stairs. Robb wasn't in any mood to talk, but there was something off about Theon's voice. He turned around to see his friend looking forlorn; as forlorn as Theon Greyjoy's face could look.

 

“Hey,” Robb said, “Thank you for drinking with me last night, you are a good friend, you know that?”

 

“Don't get sentimental on me,” Theon jeered, although Robb had long learnt to see beneath Theon's arrogance, “Someone has to get you out of your head from time to time.” Theon crossed his arms and looked to his side, looking unhappy, “Fix your shit with Jon. I can't deal with you two moping like little girls.” Without looking at Robb, Theon turned to leave, waving his had as he walked away. Robb stood at the steps for a while, knowing that Theon genuinely worried about him. And that he was right.

 

Robb ate alone and in silence in the dining hall. The bath he had taken and the new set of clothes had done much to uplift his mood, and his appetite hadn't suffered much from the hangover, if the small pile of gnawed lamb chops was any indication. He felt better, physically at least, even if the burdens in his mind didn't seem lessened; there was only one way for that to be accomplished. He looked around the hall, empty but for the serving boy at the door staring distantly at the wall in front of him. No one seemed to pay much attention to Robb, not more than any other day. He had gone to the whorehouse, he was sure that information had already circled Winterfell twice over, yet no one seemed to care. Not even Jon, wherever he might be.

 

When he had finished dressing himself, he had gone to father, to apologize. But his lord father had only sighed and told him to go eat something; Yet Robb had lingered there, part of him unwilling to accept that would be it. Father stared back at him with a frown, “Robb, do you want me to be mad at you?” he asked, his voice sounding worn out. Robb fidgeted with the trim of his tunic as he did when he was young, before catching himself. He tried to stand straighter, and school his face into severity, “I have, disappointed you father, and our name. I acted dishonorably. I must apologize.” He had to fight hard to not drop his father's intense stare. But father only sighed again and looked down, “You are not the first Stark lording to visit a whorehouse. Often times I had to carry your uncle Brandon out of there. A lot of times,” Father said without looking up, his eyes on the papers in front of him. He wanted to let it go it seemed, but Robb couldn't walk away from the disappointment he could see on his father. “I didn't bed her,” Robb took two steps forward, embarrassed at the urgency of his words, yet he continued, “We, we just talked. I couldn't.” Father then had looked up and gave him a small smile.

 

As if he had known too.

 

No one seemed to care, and some weren't even surprised to know he hadn't bedded Ros. But he still didn't know what Jon thought. Then he had asked father for Jon's whereabouts, casually, but the only answer he had gotten was that Jon's watch was over for the day and he was free. Yet Jon was not on the courtyard when he arrived, nor he had seen him around the castle, or even heard of him. He would have to go to his quarters to find him. And talk.

 

Robb returned the potato slice to his plate. He wasn't hungry anymore. The doors of the dining hall opened, and Sansa walked in, surprisingly without Jeyne Poole behind her. Although Sansa had made her mission to become a proper court lady, the fast pace of her steps now did little to hide that she was a excited girl looking for gossip. “Good afternoon, Robb,” She said politely as she sat across him, her face was brimming with anticipation. Robb had no issues with indulging Sansa's curiosity, but what happened between him and Rodrik yesterday would make it bittersweet. Still, he had known Sansa would want to know if Rodrik asked about her, if he thought she was pretty, if she thought her well mannered. And since he hadn't spoken in her behalf, too concerned about Rodrik's cock pressed against his as they kissed, he guessed he'd have to lie.

 

“Yesterday was a lovely evening,” She said, her eyes big and bright, “I hope you told our new friend he was lovely company.” Robb smiled behind his cup of wine, thinking that he definitely agreed with that. “He was so charming! Did you tell him as much? Did he thought I was as much? What did he say about me? Does he think I'm pretty?” She barraged him with questions and he kept hiding behind the cup as he sorted his thoughts. “I'm glad you had a good time. He did say you were a very beautiful and well mannered lady. He even mentioned his sister Mira would like you; and you know, she is under the service Lady Margeary of House Tyrell.” Robb hoped to lead the conversation away from Rodrik's allure, he could not dwell on how charming he was, not when images of how he touched him last night kept flashing on his mind.

 

“He truly said so?,” Sansa let go a high pitched noise as she waved her hands in front of her, “Oh! Higharden must be so beautiful! His sister is so lucky to be under Lady Margeary's service. She is so loved and admired, and so beautiful!” Sansa said dreamily, almost with the same inflection she spoke of Rodrik, but she quickly returned the conversation back to their guest. “What else did he said? Did you told him I like to ride? He said he liked to ride, you should have told him. I should have said so last night at the table! Did you tell him?” She was so hopeful, so excited. He did not want to tear that illusion down as much he did not wanted to give her false hope.

 

“He said many good things about you Sansa. Can we talk about this later? I have to stretch for a while. Need some fresh air.” Robb said standing up. The kitchen boy came to collect the dishes quickly as Robb stepped away. But Sansa didn't seem to catch on the dismissal, falling in pace next to him. “I'll walk with you for a while!” She beamed, hanging from his arm. “Thank you,” He replied muffling the sigh escaping him, “I do need some air, my head is still hurting, after last night.” They left the dining hall and entered the corridor walking slowly, Sansa giving him a judging look.

 

“Well, maybe you shouldn't have gone out,” She pouted “Serves you right. Going to drink the night away, like a commoner; and when we have guests! It just seems so improper!” She said scandalized, and Robb had to toll his eyes. “Rodrik was already sleep, I was not going to stay and guard his dreams.” Well, if Robb had spend the night, maybe he would have. In the light of day, he had to admit he regretted his decision to turn down Rodrik's offer. It was true that his feelings for Jon had made it hard. But Rodrik had been so open about his intentions and what he wanted, no pretension of love or compromise. Robb's desire for Jon was an impossibility, it had been foolish to let such an opportunity pass him. When was he going to meet someone like Rodrik again? Perhaps never, and Robb felt like a fool. Yet still the lingering knowledge that he'd wish Rodrik's fingers to be Jon's made him think that it had been the right choice, for the moment. Perhaps someday his desire for Jon would lessen, and perhaps he could feel the touch of another man without feeling guilty. Now it seemed impossible, but hoping was all he had.

 

It took him a moment to realize that Sansa was blushing, at the thought of Rodrik sleeping, perhaps? “Are you thinking of him lying on his bed, sweet Sansa?” He teased; while it was fun to goad her into imporpreness, it also helped him to take him out of his own thoughts. “Rob!” She cried, letting go of his arm and slapping him daintily on the shoulder, “You can't say that to a lady!”

 

“I'm saying that to my little sister. And she hasn't answered,” Robb nudged her with his elbow, and Sansa just kept flustering, redder by the minute. He tried the remembered how old was he when he started to look at, well, other men, differently, and maybe he had been Sansa's age. She had always dreamed of prices and knights and tender kisses, but the flush on her face was not so innocent. Perhaps it wasn't wise to tease her about Rodrik. “I joke Sansa, I joke,” He said apologetically, but Sansa wouldn't look at him, now genuinely bothered. “I'm sorry Sansa. I'll stop.”

 

“You are just as mean as Bran and Arya,” She said hurt, trying to hide a sniffle, “I thought you would be different.” She kept walking besides him, but didn't hold his arm again. “I'm really sorry Sansa, didn't mean to upset you.”

 

“I know,” She admitted with a little sigh, “It's just, I haven't felt like this in, a while.” Her eyes got lost for a second before settling on him. “And I don't like it when you guys make it seem something dirty.”

 

“Dirty?” He asked with a quirk of the brow, wondering what Sansa new of dirty things, and perhaps genuinely worried about that. Sansa quickly amended, the flush returning to her face. “I hear things, sometimes. But that's not the point! My feelings for Rodrik are good and pure.” She blushed, this time more like the romance-enthralled girl she had always been.

 

“Oh Sansa,” He said with genuine disappointment, “It's nice to have such feelings,” He lied, knowing full well his feelings for Jon where painful most of the time, “But I don't think you should invest yourself in them. House Forrester is a small house, I don't think father would consider him a good match for you.” He had thought sweet to indulge his sister with the visit of a handsome lord, but it seemed Sansa was easy to fall in love.

 

“But, but you can't be sure of that! We can't know for sure until I ask father.” She retorted with a frown on her red face. “Sansa,” He cut with a sigh, truly feeling for his sister, “Lord Forrseter is already looking for a spouse for Rodrik, and he confided in me that he's soon to make a proposition to Eleana Glenmore.” Not exactly, but Robb hoped so. Sansa looked at him with wide eyes brimming with tears. For a moment he thought she'd storm out, but she just pocketed a handkerchief and dabbed it on the rim of her eyes.

 

“So foolish,” there was a hint of self-loathing on her voice, “Arya would be glad to know she does have an idiot for a sister. Don't tell Arya.” She turned to him, her enthusiasm all but banished. He held her by the arms, softly rubbing them under his hands. Despite all she had grown, she was so small, he did not want to see her hurt. “You are not an idiot Sansa. I would never call you that and Arya doesn't mean it.” He tried to sound reassuring, as their father did, but Sansa just sighed.

 

“But I am, I'm a stupid little girl running fantasies in my head. And when they don't become true I hurt. How stupid is too hurt for something that wasn't and will never be?” She sounded angry, and Robb couldn't say he disagreed. He had never realized how alike he and Sansa truly were. Hadn't his fantasies with Jon started the same? When his love turned romantic, didn't he used to spend hours longing to hold Jon's hand and kiss his lips? He still did.

 

“We, we are all a little stupid sometimes Sansa,” He said with a sigh, yet that mad e her look at him, “And that's okay.” He said honestly, and she at least gave him a smile. “Besides, Rodrik was very, very charming, I don't blame you for being so smitten.” She smiled at this, and while she tried to keep her composure, she ended up giving him a hug. “Thank you Robb,” She sniffled on his chest and he didn't mind. “Sometimes I feel so alone in this family, why couldn't I have a sister like you?”

 

“Well, Arya is the sister you got. And you still have me.”

 

“I do,” She said looking up, “And I thank the gods for that.” They broke their hug, and Sansa let out a big sigh. “I should get back, Septa Mordane will get mad that I take this long to use the restrooms. I hope Jeyne has kept her entertained.” She asked more to herself than Robb, and as if realizing something, she quickly decided it was best to leave soon. She gave Robb a peck on the cheek, “Feel better!” She doubled back from where they came and disappeared behind a corner.

 

Robb wanted to take her advice, but he didn't think “feeling better” would come easy at all. Yet he knew there was only one way that could happen. He had to talk to Jon.

 

He made his way slowly to Jon's quarters, part of him still desiring to put this off as long as he could. There would be a talk, yet he still was unsure of what he would say. He couldn't confess his feelings, that was beyond the question; they would only serve to hurt Jon. But he had to say something, because otherwise the distance would continue to grow. How ironic would be to grow so apart from Jon because he loved him? He had always loved him, in his bones; he could not loose him. But what if he did?

 

The walk to Jon's room took an eternity.

 

He took a deep breath, attempting to calm the jumps of his chest. He could feel his palms sweat and his back itch, every muscle telling him to turn away. He didn't have time to talk himself against that urge before the door opened in front of him. Jon stared at him with wide eyes and tussled hair, and Robb swallowed hard. He prayed to the gods that Jon's beauty was on his own lovelorn eyes, then maybe someday he'd be able to look at him without pain.

 

“I was going to look for you,” Jon frowned, but his face remained guarded. He stepped to the side, a silent invitation to let Robb in. Did Jon realize that he hadn't step foot in there for over a year? Robb wanted to laugh for how wrong he had let things turn between them. He couldn't stop himself from feeling guilty of abandoning Jon. No wonder their distance was so obvious. He stepped in carefully, keenly aware of their surroundings. Jon's quarters where as big as his, but they looked bigger so sparsely decorated. Jon was so frugal, even as a child. He never seemed to have or want for many toys except his wooden bear. The old rat-nibbled toy still sat on the same trunk in the corner, still missing it's left ear. Now Jon's room had some more weapons hanged around, but it was pretty much the same as Robb remembered.

 

The door closed behind him, and Robb couldn't make himself face Jon. “I think you heard of mi little, uhm, escapade last night” Robb said, his feet moving slowly as to make the width of the room seem bigger, but he soon was standing by the corner, his eyes over the wooden bear. “I think I had too much to drink. My mouth tasted like ash in the morn.” Robb heard a noncommittal noise coming from behind. Still, not daring to look back, he grabbed the small wooden bear. He didn't remember when Jon had gotten it, it was so old. It was carved from a single block, no articulations, and its placid painted face had peeled off; only a ghost of malcontent now there, under the dim light that seeped through the curtains at least. “At least I didn't churn my guts out.”

 

The silence was thick, and maybe as awkward as his morning ride.

 

Robb hoped for Jon to say something, maybe veer the conversation away and maybe they wouldn't even have to actually talk, but Jon remained silent behind him, and Robb knew there was no going back.

 

“I'm sorry” Jon said suddenly, and Robb turned back, wondering if he had missed something. The question must have been clear on his face, because Jon sulked even further, as if he was a was a child being forced to apologize. “I'm sorry for being an ass to Rodrik yesterday.” Jon almost rolled his eyes, but his apology sounded genuine, still Robb had no idea what was going on. He had thought things going so differently that now he had to take a moment to catch up. “Uhm, Okay. Sure, it's alright” Robb answered with little confidence, and that seemed to make Jon more pissed. Yet he shook his head and took a deep breath, as if he was struggling with what to say.

 

“Things are not alright Robb,” Jon stood between the bed and the desk, his hand reaching for the chair, the motion a distraction to avoid looking to Robb, “You and I... -We were close, and I don't know what happened. I'm sorry that it made me so pissed last night, but, but it bothered me to see you...-” Jon scratched his head, the red of his face noticeable even under the dim light of the room, “It has always been you and me, you are my best friend. If I have done something please forgive me Robb... -if you don't wanna be close to a bastard tell..” Robb couldn't let him finish. It took him a breath to cut the distance between him and Jon and place his hands on his shoulders. He gripped him, not gently, making Jon stare at him with astonishment.

 

“Never that Jon, never,” Robb shook his head, and now his grasp on Jon served as much as to hold himself upright as it was to comfort Jon, “I'm so sorry Jon; you, you have done nothing wrong. You couldn't, you have always been better than me,” Robb couldn't help to feel a knot on his throat as Jon's eyes grew wider under the praise, and he cursed himself for not saying these things before, always, every second, “There is no truer friend than you, even now you kick yourself when the blame is solely on me. I apologize Jon, I am so, so sorry to make you feel less than you are. You are never less under my eyes. Never.” His grip then must have been almost painful, but Jon said nothing, just continued to look at Robb almost dazed. The moment hung, and Robb hated himself for wishing to break the distance between them an kiss him.

 

“Oh,” Jon said with a small voice, the blush still on his cheeks. Robb felt self-conscious enough to let go of him and even take a step back, but he didn't lost sight of Jon's face. “Thank, thank you Robb,” Jon said flatly, yet his face was still red. “Then, what's -different?” Jon's voice was pure curiosity, but Robb could hear the edges of something else around his words.

 

“Me,” Robb said simply. He turned and walked towards the window, breathing hard, “I have changed. I guess, no, I know; someday father will be gone and I'll be lord of Winterfell.”

 

“It's your birthright Robb,” Jon's voice was tinged with admiration, or perhaps zeal. “I know Jon, I have always known that. But the reality of it is scarier; there's so much to take care of, and it's daunting and I worry I'll never be even as good as father has been, and that he'll be gone and I could never ask him for counsel, and, and I haven't been able to deal with it properly,” Even if it wasn't the real reason, it had enough truth to not make Robb hate himself any more, “And, to know I'll have to marry someone I know not, that might not come to love ever. I, I'm scared of the future Jon,” That had always been true, “And I don't wish to burden you with such thoughts. Perhaps I didn't want you to see me as weak,” Robb shook his head, his hands resting on the windowsill, “There are so many frightening things running on my head, I did not want you to see them. I don't want you to see me differently.” Robb sighed. Even if it was a heavily stripped down and twisted version of what he felt, none of it had been a lie. It was of little comfort though.

 

“Bullshit” Jon called out, and Robb felt his heart was going to run from his mouth. He turned to Jon, a hit of panic rising within, but Jon just seemed pissed “I'd never see you differently, I'd never shame you for your doubt. You know me better than that.” Jon sounded hurt, genuinely so and Robb let go a small laugh, “Just as you should have known I'd never see you any differently because of your birth. Right?” Robb crossed his arms, his eyebrow raised and Jon almost pouted in return, mostly frowned. “You have been calling me Snow a lot. I don't like it”

 

“I apologize for that,” Robb said looking down, but could still feel Jon's eyes. It wasn't really an answer to the implicit question, “I spend too much time with Theon, some nasty habits just rub off I guess.” He lied. Jon hummed in response, his frown deepening, “Like the whoring?” How hard Robb wished the bitterness on Jon's voice had been jealousy. Robb laughed, mostly at his own forlorn heart, “There was no whoring, just too much drinking, by far, and Ros patting my head.”

 

“Really?” Jon asked, his eyes suddenly wide and open, his voice young. Robb felt so guilty at failing Jon about that. It hadn't been a promise, but he had said that he wouldn't be bringing any bastards to the world. He knew that was important to Jon. “Yeah, don't go telling that around though. I would never heard the end of it from Theon,” Jon rolled his eyes but nodded, his smile was sweet and Robb wanted to rip his own heart out. “See, this is what I miss,” Jon made his way next to Robb, standing too close, “All we have been doing is sparring; when was the last time we just talked shit about Theon? When was the last time we rode in the wolfswood or swam in the springs?,” Robb really wished Jon's favorite activities didn't include just the two of them, “Remember when we climbed the heart tree, and Greyjoy got so mad because he couldn't find us for hours?” Jon's eyes shined under the soft light, and he shook his head embarrassed, “I, I just miss how things used to be; I just want..-” His words trailed off, suddenly self conscious. Robb chest beat raucously, Jon was so close, so close he could feel his warmth, “What do you want Jon?” Robb's voice was deep and breathy and Jon parted his lips softly; Robb had to dig his nails on his own palms to stop himself, “I just want things to be as they used to. I want my best friend back,” Jon admitted, then looked outside, “Your, your family has always been kind to me Robb, more than they should”

 

“They are your family too, Jon,” Robb said with a huff.

 

“I know, I know. But,” Jon sighed trying to find the words, “I have been fortunate, so much more than others ever get. Yet I'm not trueborn, just a bastard cousin lucky enough to be raised by loving uncles. You might not see me as less, but, the rest of the world still does. What will be my place someday if not besides you?” The admission hurt Jon, Robb could see it on his eyes, “Then I want things to be when we were children, then I was so sure it was you and me. There was no doubt what my place was.” This might be the first time Jon had spoken so freely, so tenderly. Robb couldn't help himself from wrapping his arms against him.

 

“You belong with me, with this family. Winterfell is as yours as it's mine,” This had been the closer they had been since, years, before Robb's thoughts had changed and his body had betrayed him. But now he had realized something; no matter how much he lusted for Jon, at the end of the day, his love for him was as true as when they were children hiding in the godswood. “As long as you wish, your place will be by my side, and I will never change my mind about that. Even if sometimes I'm an idiot.”

 

The moment Jon's arms circled around him, strong and almost desperate, was the sweetest agony Robb had ever experienced. His will faltered for a second, and he allowed himself to rest his head on Jon's hair, breathing in his scent. Jon held him even tighter, and Robb could feel wet droplets on his neck. He said nothing, only busing himself running his hand on Jon's back comfortingly. He'd give Jon the love he needed and deserved, even if it killed him. They stood there for a moment, Robb breathing in Jon's scent of fresh sweat, oak and birch leaves, holding him tightly. It would probably kill him.

 

Jon broke the hug and wiped his face, yet the smile did not leave his lips. “No word of this to Greyjoy,” Jon said quickly, pointing with his finger, “I don't want him calling us girls till the end of days.” Robb laughed, “I didn't plan on telling Theon, you know that.”

 

“Maybe you should tell him we, fixed, things anyway. He's not dumb, he knew something was not right,” Jon shrugged.

 

“I keep telling you he's not dumb. Yet you are still surprised.” Robb rolled his eyes and Jon grinned at him, “Now, don't go telling him that,” Robb said, “The last thing we need is Theon getting even a bigger head”

 

“If his head was any bigger,” Jon said seriously, “It wouldn't fit thought the door.”

 

They laughed, and for a moment Robb believed everything could go back to normal, then Jon absentmindedly licked his lips, and Robb hoped he at least could pretend so.

 

**Jon**

 

Jon pulled the reins, his mare coming to a swift stop by the creek. The cold air prickled at his skin, yet he breathed in heavily the chill of the afternoon, the smell of wet mulch and bark clinging to his nose. He smiled softly, then wider as he heard Robb finally catching to him.

 

“I won,” Jon declared triumphantly, “You owe me, let me see, a dare”

 

“You know, if we don't establish what we are betting before, it's not fair,” Robb grumbled, but he wasn't mad. Jon grinned mischievously “Oh bull, if you had won, you wouldn't be saying that. Besides, it was implied. What is the point of a race then?” He said feeling cocky.

 

Robb lead his steed next to Jon, shaking his head. “Maybe just the honor of winning should be enough Jon, haven't you thought that? So greedy.” Robb chided, but his eyes sparkled. The horse's ears perked up over the sound of hooves, Arya's yells carried by the wind. “Next time I'll race you both! And win!”

 

“This isn't over!” Jon called as Robb turned to face the rest of the arriving party. Arya galloped lightly, more adept at the saddle than men grown. Sansa and Bran followed in a placid step, with a bored Theon behind them.

 

“This is a lovely clearing,” Sansa called, her blue eyes taking in the surroundings. For all she made herself the proper lady, she enjoyed a ride through the woods as much as any Stark, “We should organize a lunch someday, it would be lovely to eat with the sound of the creek by the side.”

 

“Sorry sister, father wouldn't like that,” Rob said apologetic, “There have been some wildling sightings just north of here; he might let us go out for a ride, but if things worsen, not even this.” Before Sansa could pout, it was Arya who chimed in, “Are you telling me we won't be able to go out for rides? That's not fair!”

 

“You getting kidnapped and who knows whatever else, that wouldn't be fair either.” Greyjoy said darkly, and while Arya just frowned at him, Sansa appeared unnerved by the words. Robb gave Greyjoy a warning look, but there was only a half-meant shrug in response. “Well, shouldn't we make the most of it then?” Bran said softly, cutting the tension. At that, Arya beamed excited, and brought her horse next to Sansa's. “Come on, I'll race you to the last clearing and back.”

 

“No thank you,” Sansa said primly, “A proper lady doesn't go off racing.” She upturned her nose, making sure to look Arya down, but her little wolf sister just grinned more widely, “Oh Sansa, if you don't want to loose, just say so. At least Bran here is gonna give it a try. Right Bran?” Arya pointed at Bran, who nodded shyly, but not backing down from the challenge, “Winner will, mmm, plans what we do next.” Arya said casually, and Jon had to hide his smile.

 

“That's not fair!” Sansa yelled from her horse with indignation, “That way we'll all have to do whatever one of you wants!”

 

“But if you win, you'd get to decide what we do,” Arya offered, and Sansa stared back blankly for a second. Bran's eyes darted between his two sisters in anticipation, and Jon knew that even if Sansa was a proper lady, it was hard for a Stark to step down from a challenge. Sansa's nod was imperceptible, and the two Stark girls rode off, Bran taking too long in realizing the race had already started, but he followed nonetheless.

 

“I guess I'll have to keep an eye on them,” Robb said with worry and headed off after them, “You stay here to call the winner!” He shouted as he disappeared into the woods. Jon let out a small laugh, this had been a great day. He heard the dismounting behind him, and he would have really preferred if Greyjoy wasn't around. Most of the time he could deal with him, but for the last day or two, he could feel the ironborn shooting daggers at him with his eyes. It wasn't unusual that Greyjoy gave him nasty looks, what was unusual was that he kept quiet about them. But Jon wasn't gonna let him ruin his mood, he looked at Greyjoy, almost challenging him to say something now that they were alone. But he just scoffed and sat on a moss-covered rock, and busied himself with fixing a couple of arrows. Jon squinted his eyes, “What's with you?” Jon said, realizing he had indeed let Greyjoy ruin his mood. Still, he dismounted and walked next to Greyjoy, arms crossed and frown set.

 

“So, Robb told me you two talked and were in better terms, whatever the hells you were pissed about each other.” Theon talked without looking up, concentrated on his fletching. “True, not that it matters to you,” Jon responded with no kindness, and Greyjoy looked up, a ghoulish smile on his face. “You have always hated that, haven't you?” Greyjoy said waving the arrow on his hand around, “That I'm Robb's friend. I wonder if it's because you don't want anyone to realize how you hurt him.”

 

Jon froze, his eyes widening in horror, and anger. “What the fuck did you say?” Jon growled and in two swift strides he was next to Greyjoy, looming over him. Greyjoy just looked up, his perennial smirk replaced by a quiet contemplation that simply made Jon's skin crawl. “Maybe you don't even notice,” Greyjoy wondered, his eyes just two washed-out slits boring into Jon. “What the fuck-” Jon reiterated, his fist almost trembling at his sides, begging to be smashed against Greyjoy's face, “Do you mean?”

 

Whatever Greyjoy saw on his face though, made him let out a sigh, “That's a level of indignation you can't fake. Nah, you are too loyal a pup to do him any harm. Willfully.” Greyjoy said mostly to himself, his eyes lost somewhere else, his brow knitted, as if he was asking himself a question. Jon suddenly felt deflated, his anger replaced by worry. He squatted down, his eyes at level with Greyjoy now, “Why did you say I hurt him?” Jon didn't care his voice sounded panicked.

 

“Why else would he look so pained when you turn around?” Greyjoy's answer was almost a taunt, but not even his nasty demeanor could mask the actual concern on his voice. Jon didn't know what to say, but he didn't have the chance to, soon the sounds of hooves broke the quiet, and a victorious Arya arrived back to the clearing “Yes!” She exclaimed, Sansa following very closely with a pressed thin line on her lips. Arya dismounted with one movement and run to Jon, jumping on his back. He gave Theon one last searching look before standing up, making Arya yelp excitedly. “Congratulations little wolf, you won.” Jon looked up and gave her a smile, although he wished he could feel more excited. “Of course I did, I'm the best rider in this family!” She grabbed firmly from his neck with one hand as she ruffled his curls with the other. “You rode well too, Sansa. You have improved a lot” Jon said looking at his cousin, and he couldn't help feeling fondness at her quick blush, “Thank you, Jon” She nodded demurely, dismounting from her horse with care, although Greyjoy was quickly by her side to help her. Soon Bran and Robb arrived, his little cousin pouting in his defeat. Robb just rode to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You are getting better Bran, I'm proud of you,” Robb said softly enough Arya and Sansa didn't seem to pay attention. Bran nodded with a small smile and then Robb helped him down.

 

“Alright!” Arya announced from her perch on Jon's shoulder, “Time to decide. Mmm, let's see, we could go for a hike, or find pebbles by the creek! Or look around for buried treasure!” Sansa didn't seem keen on any of those activities, and Jon knew Arya was very aware. “Come on Arya, let's get this over with before it gets too late,” Sansa said defeated.

 

Arya patted Jon's shoulder, and Jon kneeled to let her get off. She patted him on the head, as if he was a horse, and he smiled. “Or we could sit for a while and eat these candied fruit I sto...- got from the kitchen. Riding is pretty tiring.” Arya shrugged and grabbed a roll from her mount. She run tho a nice spot by the creek, and then untied the twine around the roll, her winter cloak unfolding and revealing an assortment of pastries and candied fruits. Arya waved with her hand, and Bran quickly joined her with wonder and hunger in his smile. “Urgh, come on Sansa before Bran eats all the lemon cakes!” Arya shouted, and her sister had to fight the smile on her lips as she sat down next to Bran and her.

 

“Arya asked me earlier of we were going to rest by the creek,” Robb said, standing next to Jon, “I asked her why and she said Sansa wouldn't shut up about it during their needlework, “ His voice was low, and Jon took a moment to appreciate the soft smile under his red mustache. Was that a real smile, or was he hiding something behind? “Something wrong?” Robb asked, and Jon realized he had been staring.

 

Jon's eyes darted to Greyjoy, and they were already expecting him, a calculating frown on his face. He quickly returned them to Robb, “No, just, just a little tired. I think I didn't eat enough at breakfast” Jon lied, and Robb nodded, pocketing something from his jerkin. “Here,” he handed Jon a piece of cheese wrapped in paper, “I might have helped Arya raid the kitchen.” Robb winked, and Jon returned him an easy smile.

 

Robb was still smiling, but it didn't reach all the way to his eyes. Jon had been so joyous in having Robb back, that he had missed that, he should have seen it. And now the sadness was there, and all he could see behind Robb's blue eyes. Fucking Greyjoy.

 

Robb kept smiling at him, expectantly, and Jon unwrapped the cheese with a smile he knew tight. Why was Robb in pain, Was Greyjoy right, and it was because of him? Jon bit the cheese, and he chewed slowly. Things had been so good between them, better than they had been in a long time. They had rode together, they had spent an afternoon fishing by the pond, Robb had helped him polish his sword collection and Jon had told him stories about them. They had eaten winter peaches until their stomachs hurt, and Robb had joined him for his last morning watch; spending the morn making up stories about the people walking through Winter Town's road. They had been to the smithy, and Robb had even got his hands dirty trying to make a sword. He wasn't very good at it, he hit the metal too hard. They had laughed. It had been perfect, or as close to it as it could get.

 

But now Greyjoy said all of that was a lie, and Jon just wanted to punch him, even if he was right. Had Robb really done all those things just to make Jon happy? Why would he do that? Jon swallowed hard, his mind begging him not to go there.

 

The children finished their snack and the chill of the afternoon settled, it was time to return. They donned their heavier cloaks and returned to the castle at a leisure pace. Jon smiled at the jokes thrown around, and payed attention to Bran and Arya's discussions and Sansa's tales. Robb laughed with his siblings, his face serene and youthful. “You seem quiet. Well, quieter than usual,” Robb asked while Arya tried to tell a joke. Jon just shook his head, “Just listening, they seem to be having a good time.”

 

“That they do,” Robb let out a contented sigh, “I like it when Sansa and Arya aren't at each others throats all the time,” Robb's face became wistful, “Today it's a good memory to make; it may be one of the last times we all get to stroll through the Wolfswood before winter comes.” Jon nodded, and they both joined the laughs when they heard the end of Arya's joke, even when they had miss the beginning.

 

After they arrived to Winterfell, the girls and Bran were sent to take a bath by Robb, who had promised he would do so to Lady Stark, “Traitor,” Arya mouthed before scampering off. Greyjoy waved his goodbyes to go who knows. “I'll make sure Arya doesn't run off” Jon lied, and left the stable to just stand outside, peering through the separated planks. Robb remained inside, helping the stable boys unsaddle the horses. Robb liked to spend time on the stables, Jon knew, he always seemed happy to take care of the animals. But then, when the stable boys left to put the saddles away, and Robb thought he was alone, his face had became still, his brow knitted, his eyes downcast. There was no denying there was sadness on his face. Greyjoy was right.

 

“I heard the pinto mare is pregnant” Jon said leaning against the stable door. Robb looked back at him a bit surprised, yet his smile was fond, bright. But was it real? “It is so! Falden was worrying she was barren, and that would have been a shame,” Robb walked by the pinto on the other side and ran his hand through her coat, “She's a beauty. Hopefully she'll give us a healthy colt, or a filly for Sansa.” Robb looked at Jon, and smiled. Robb had been smiling a lot. Was that to keep Jon happy? Why? His mind begged him again not to go there. He had to remind himself of his place.

 

He felt a pit on his gut. He had been so easy to believe everything had been alright once more, yet all that had happened is that Robb was being consumed by pain, in silence. Something he wanted to keep hidden from Jon, but Greyjoy seemed to catch on easily. Greyjoy had said so at least, and for all he disliked him sometimes, he was no liar.

 

Robb hid his feelings, his sadness, behind smiles to make Jon happy. Robb sacrificed himself to make him happy. Jon swallowed thickly, self-loathing ashen in his mouth. Why? Robb grabbed a thick brush and started to pass it over the pinto's coat, gently, softly. His russet curls flickering of flame under stray sunlight. Something caught on Jon's throat and his mind begged him one last time not to go there, to leave those doors closed and barred forever.

 

The answer couldn't be that Robb was in love with him. It couldn't. His mind was just taking a leap lacking of any logic. Because deep down, no matter how much he tried to not think about it, it was the only think Jon truly wanted.

 

Jon knew his place. He had fought so hard to not be a fool, so hard to know where he belonged. He was a bastard. And even if Robb was a his best friend, he would never love a bastard. Jon closed his eyes, and as usual, Robb's eyes were there, burned on his memory. Blue like the sky. But Robb would never be in love with him.

 

It was always Robb, it had always been him. It did not matter how he tried to justify his petty jealousy, or the reason why the distance hurt so much. He belonged with Robb.

 

He belonged to Robb.

 

That had been a constant as long as he remembered. He knew he'd always would, he knew he'd die for him. It wasn't until Sansa was older and begged them to play princes and dragons with them, that he had started wishing he could be Robb's prince. “His knight, you mean” Sansa had said, and Jon had shrugged, and to him it felt the same, it meant Robb would be his prince. He just wanted to be with Robb.

 

But as he grew older, he knew some things could not be. Robb was to be the Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North. And Jon was a bastard, and bastards deserve nothing. People said so, whispered so, no matter how hard the Starks had tried to protect his feelings. Jon would not wish for things he could never have. Sansa could love to live in fantasies, but Jon could only see them as heartbreaking. Maybe because it was he knew his would never come true. Jon had to know his place. As long as his place was near Robb, he didn't care, he didn't mind. And for years, he was happy with that.

 

Yet still he had been greedy, aching for Robb's closeness once he had lost it, to the point he actually demanded it. Now he was being punished. Robb had told him he was never less to him, even if to Jon that couldn't be true. Robb had held him in his strong arms and spoken to him so sweetly that he had made Jon cry, promising him he would always be by his side. Now Robb hid his own sadness away to make Jon happy. How could Jon resist been sweep off his feet?

 

Jon smiled sadly as Robb kept brushing the mare with tender dedication. He had grown so much from the redheaded kid he had been, but the yes, they were the same. The same kid he had wished to be always by his side, the one he once had wished would be his prince. Realizing that he was now, still, always in love with Robb was as natural as the pass of time, maybe just as unavoidable.

 

It didn't meant he couldn't feel his heart breaking.

 

“All done, girl,” Robb said, giving the mare a pat on the back. She whined happily and started nibbling on a bale of hay. His eyes fell on Jon, and suddenly there was worry on his face, “Everything alright?” Robb asked with concern, walking towards Jon.

 

“Yeah, yeah” Jon shook his head, but Robb didn't seem to buy it. First on the woods, now here, Robb would keep on asking. “I was just thinking. Nothing you have to worry about. I'm just being dumb.” That much was truth, if it was up to Jon, Robb would never know this. Robb seemed he wanted to protest, but any objection died out as a commotion came from the courtyard. One of the stable boys came running, and Robb stopped him to ask what had happened. “A deserter milord, from the Night's watch! The outriders just have brought him to the castle!” The stable boy run away as fast as he gave the news.

 

Robb walked out towards the doors, then looked back at Jon, a quirk on his brow. “You go” Jon waved him off, and Robb just shrugged disappearing outside, leaving Jon alone in the stables with his thoughts.

 

“Whining pups all the damned time; that's all I hear this days,” Jon was pretty sure his thoughts didn't sound like Theon fucking Greyjoy. He turned around, too angry and too sad to give a damn. Greyjoy wanted to say something else, but Jon didn't let him. He could feel his face turning a scowl as he grabbed Greyjoy by the collar, yanking him close, so close he enjoyed to see a hint of terror on Greyjoy's pale eyes. Jon just needed one reason. Why did Greyjoy keep pushing him? Why hadn't he punched the shit out of him already? Maybe he just should, maybe that would make Jon feel better.

 

“What's going on?” Robb's voice was heard from the door, and Jon's mind froze. He realized he was too close to Greyjoy, their noses almost touching, and he felt like he had been caught doing something wrong. Robb's disgusted face didn't help. “We are just, playing, Robb. You've interrupted us,” Greyjoy intoned playfully, his eyes fixed on Robb, and it was just wrong, “You should have knocked,” but it wasn't as wrong as Greyjoy's hand falling at Jon's sides, even lovingly so. Robb let go a muffled sound and apologized, quickly disappearing again. Jon wanted to run after him, tell him it wasn't like that, but Jon had no idea what was happening.

 

Greyjoy raised his eyebrows, eyes set on Jon, seemingly unaware that he had his hands still on Jon's hips. Jon only wanted to punch him. “Ow!” Jon did, and Greyjoy yelped. He shoved Jon with one hard push, grabbing his bleeding nose.

 

“Why did you do that?” Jon yelled with fury, pointing at the doors, “Why do you hate me so much?”. Greyjoy wiped the droplets of blood from his nose with his sleeve, still managing to roll his eyes with exasperation.

 

“I don't hate you, Snow. I just don't care about you a lot,” Greyjoy sighed, and Jon just wanted to punch him again. How could Jon believe him when he had done, that, just to make Robb look at him with disgust? “You hate that Robb's my friend, but I have to look out after him, specially when it comes to you.”

 

“I told you I didn't hurt him!” Jon protested, but Greyjoy's glare was dark, “Oh, but you do, he's always in fucking pain because of you,“ He started walking a circle around Jon, “And now he runs away like he wants to die because someone else was touching you,” There was frustration in Greyjoy's voice now, and Jon didn't know why, “And you are too much of a fucking idiot to realize why.”

 

Jon run to him, almost feeling dizzy from the rush. “Then tell me, damnit!” He yelled, and there was nothing but desperation on his voice. Greyjoy stared back at him not with anger, just pity and exhaustion.

 

“Do you deserve to know the truth?” Greyjoy sneered, and even if Jon wanted to just be angry, he couldn't help the tears forming on the corner of his eyes. Why did Greyjoy kept torturing him? Greyjoy stared at him intently, waiting for something. Then he just sighed and spoke, “Because he's in fucking love with you, you moron.”

 

**Benjen**

 

He tore up the piece of meat, the juices dripping down his fingers. He gave the gods a small prayer and took the bite to his mouth. He did not felt shame at the moan he let go, his other two companions were just as enthralled by their meal. Unlike him and Crissen, Alfrid didn't even seem to take time to savor the meat, gnawing on the bone like a starving hound. On the other hand, they might as well indulge now they were so south of the wall and there was more than enough game. Yesterday they have had rabbit stew, and now they were eating the most tender deer he could remember. A far cry from the gruel they had in the wall. The thought that once reaching Winterfell the food would be even better warmed his heart; the certainty that Old Nan would give him enough pastries to feed a scouting party for a week almost made him weep.

 

Somehow it was easy to forget the reason they were riding south. Benjen would prefer to see the king's justice be done without him, specially when it was Ned doing the deed. The brother of his blood executing a brother of his vows. It left a sour taste on his mouth. But the Lord Commander wanted answers. Benjen pushed the thought out of his mind. Tonight he shared a campfire in good company and good food. He would worry later.

 

“Ya think we'll arrive to Winterfell before nightfall tomorrow?” Alfrid grumbled, strings of meat caught on his bushy beard, “Cause I tell ya, I wouldn't mind camping another night if we got to eat like this!” He kept gnawing on his bone. Although not too well mannered and boorish, he was an excellent tracker; he would get round as a barrel if he got to eat like this everyday. He was good company, for a man that had bashed his father's head in.

 

“Tomorrow we'll dine even better!” Benjen answered, although he knew he would miss the quiet of the road. He enjoyed the quiet, and that was a enviable thing in the Night's Watch. Even if he wouldn't call Alfrid or Crissen friends, they were brothers and he felt right by their side, sharing the warmth of the campfire, only the stars above their heads.

 

“Even if it's as half as abundant as the feasts in Casterly Rock, I'll weep,” Crissen said wistfully, although he always was wistful about Casterly Rock, which didn't make him too many friends on the north. Besides, the fact that he must have been a Lannister bastard with his golden long hair and handsome face didn't help. His other half could have been a Mormont for all Benjen knew. Crissen was tall and broad-shouldered, able to brandish a battle-axe with ease once he put his mind into it. Crissen the Handsome they called him, and they were not wrong. “There are many delights I miss from Casterly Rock” Crissen winked at Benjen, and he had to look away. Benjen was very sure he wasn't missing any delights at Castle Black. “Ya pampered bugger,” Alfrid shook his head with rehearsed exasperation, and Crissen just smiled. Benjen was sure if there was a man that wouldn't take Crissen's mouth in a pinch would be Alfrid, and somehow that had made him the best friends.

 

They continued to enjoy their meal, until there was only bones left. Alfrid procured a flagon of bitter ale from his pack, and passed it around. “How old is your boy Benjen, eight and ten?” Alfrid asked, and Benjen was left with the gulp caught on his throat. He chased it down with another. “Seven and ten” Benjen answered, knowing that Jon's name-day was almost upon, well, his real name-day. “He's already man grown! Are ya going to tell him to take the black?”

 

“No,” Benjen said tersely, “His place it's at Winterfell, with his family.”

 

“He's Snow,” Alfrid said with no bite, but Benjen disliked it still, “He should decide his own place. If you are worried Crissen here's gonna paw at him, I'll bat him away with a branch.”

 

“I'd never touch your son, Benjen!” Crissen said offended, or at least trying to appear so. Benjen wasn't sure if it was because of respect, or because Crissen was till hoping he'd give in eventually. And nights were so cold sometimes. “See?” Alfrid pointed, as if that solved the issue, “At least give your boy the choice. I can't think it's easy for him to live with trueborn children knowing he can't have any of that.” Benjen answered with a non-commital sound, because he didn't know either. He remained silent, and soon Alfrid and Crissen started a conversation about wildlings leaving Benjen with his thoughts.

 

Benjen had not been a good father to Jon, he had already sworn his vows to raise him himself. Ned had been more of a father, and sometimes that stung. Sometimes he dreamed of teaching Jon how to ride, how to fish, how to read, and it pained him to see him each time he came to Winterfell bigger and stronger. And more distant. He used to hug him when he came when he was a child, and ask him to take him with him, that he wanted to be a brother of the Night's Watch, and that they should take Robb too. Benjen never doubted Ned and Cat gave him love and safety, but how could any of them expect Jon to be happy with being a bastard? He could feel the weight of Cat's letter on his chest, Jon's anger and shame. How any of them had expected any different? Even as a little boy, he had rather live with his father in a frozen wall than in a castle people called him a bastard in hushed tones. But the alternative wouldn't had been any better.

 

“You let me hate him Ned!” Catelyn had cried, shame and anger on her reddened face that night. She had been stoic until that moment, but Ned's intransigence to admit he had even done wrong had snapped the composure she had. Benjen remembered clearly he shouldn't have been there watching his brother and good-sister arguing like that.

 

“I did it to keep him safe. I Promised,” Ned said flatly, but without looking at her.

 

“Did you promise to let me turn into a monster?” When Cat said that, Ned had looked to her sharply, ready to deny that, but Catelyn's face had become stone-like in a second, making her tear stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes all the more haunting, “I wished him death Ned. I wanted him dead,” She admitted hollowly.

 

“Cat... you,” Whatever he wanted to say to console her, was worthless beneath the hint of disappointment on his eyes. Benjen wanted to hit Ned, for daring to look at Catelyn like that, but when his brother crumpled on the chair, pain and even a deeper shame on his eyes, he could not bring himself to act on that rage.

 

She looked away, her eyes searching the darkness beyond the window. “I hated him. It would have keep festering inside of me until... I'm sorry I wasn't the woman you wanted me to, to love him, or even accept him. I guess we hardly knew each other.” Benjen wanted to say that Ned had expected to much anyway, that he had only done what he had thought right without even considering what Cat would feel, how disgraceful and shameful the situation was for a southern lady. But it was not his place.

 

If Ned wanted to say anything after that, no one knew. He had never been one of words, it was hard to expect him to be so deep in self loathing. “Let Benjen be his father as it is his wish,” Catelyn broke the silence, her eyes falling on Ned. “Allow it not for me, but so that everyone can see Jon as more than your broken oath and my shame. Don't do it for me, do it for him, so I can raise him with affection instead of the indifference it would be expected from me, the distaste I have so clearly shown. I can't hate him anymore, I won't hate him.” She asked simply, not begging, not commanding. Ned was still her Lord husband, and she would do as he wished.

 

“It's not your burden to carry alone, Ned,” Benjen finally spoke, more tenderly that he wished to.

 

“It has already been my broken oath for this long; brother, how can I just let it fall on you?” Ned raised his head, and it was the first time he could remember moistness on his brother's gray eyes.

 

“Because to me it wouldn't be a broken oath, just an indiscretion.” Benjen replied with a slight smirk that faded into fondness, “And I would have a son.”

 

Benjen had clasped his brother's shoulder then, “Whatever sense of honor that lead you to this lie, it's not needed anymore. Jon deserves to be more than your bastard, and Catelyn deserves more than her husband's bastard living under her roof. You don't have to Ned.”

 

Ned simply nodded, and Catelyn gave a sigh of relief, the worry lines in her face softening for a moment. If the day's events had sobered Benjen from his utter enchantment with Catelyn, it dwarfed compared to the closeness and understanding he felt for her now. Perhaps once he had thought he loved her, now he did; as he loved Ned, and as he had loved Lyanna.

 

Benjen had left them to talk in private after that, still reeling after what he head learnt. He didn't want to recriminate Ned, he couldn't judge him, but Benjen couldn't deny his own anger to himself. If he had known before, if Ned hadn't wanted to pass Jon as his own son, maybe Benjen would have not taken the black, and could have raised Jon, and maybe someday even legitimize him. But Ned had tried to fix things his own way as always, only managing to embitter and shame his lady wife and making Jon an outcast. They both deserved better.

 

After that they had tried to do as best as they could. So uncle Benjen became Papa, and it felt right, and it was better for Jon, because Benjen could give him the open affection Ned never could. Those visits to Winterfell made sometimes harder to return to the Wall, leaving Jon's sweet and solemn face behind. Yet as Jon grew, he had been so proud that his father was the First Ranger of the Night's Watch. A pride that was Jon's alone and even his cousins envied.

 

But even now, part of Benjen still resented Ned for that lie. He knew he could truly have raised him as his own. Maybe it wouldn't have been hard to lie back then, say he had married Jon's mother before she died, then Jon would have been a Stark fully. He would have watched Jon grow everyday, taught him everything he knew, and someday they could have had a stronghold of their own, and been loyal Stark bannermen together, as father as son. He could have been the father Jon deserved all his life, not just twice or thrice a year.

 

Benjen knew Lyanna would have liked that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably if someone didn't outright spell it out, Jon would have never realized it on his own, or too late. That's what happened between them in another universe, similar to the canon one. I kinda want to write that snippet.
> 
> Thank you so much for your support and lovely comments and kudos! They definitely make me more excited to share this and I'm really happy people seem to be enjoying this! Thank you so much guys!
> 
> This will most likely be the only update for the week. I will be busy in and out of town, so I don't think I'll have time to write what's left, but this is like 95% already written, so it will happen by next week!
> 
> So as you my dear readers have probably noticed, this chapter was longer than the previous ones, and I hope that tides you over 'til next week; chapters four and five also will have around 12k words each because maybe I shouldn't have set the structure of 4 PoV's per chapter from the beginning ha!
> 
> Chapter 4: The plot arrives and says hey. Maybe something happens before that.
> 
> Maybe. ;D


	4. Four

**Robb**

 

The morning sky was crisp and clear, a stark contrast to Robb's troubled thoughts. The party rode in silence through the white plains; there was a certain solemnity to be had given the grim task ahead. Robb wasn't sure if he appreciated the silence though, it gave his mind too much room to run. He was too see a man die under the king's justice and his father's hand, it was no time for his thoughts, yet he could do little to truly repress them, stubbornly eating at the edges of his mind.

 

“You're still mad about me putting my hands in your Snow?” Theon certainly didn't have any qualms about the owed gravity of the situation. And Robb was still mad, not sure exactly why. His most panicked thoughts about Theon and Jon having that sort of relationship where quickly dismissed by Theon himself not long after the deserter was brought in. Deciding they would wait until the Night's Watch party's arrival to carry the execution, everyone had been dismissed back to their obligations. While Jon had been nowhere to be found, Theon had quickly set Robb aside at the corridor before suppertime.

 

Only then had Robb noticed the incipient bruising around Theon's nose. “Yeah, Jon wasn't appreciative of my joke either. Who would have thought?” Theon said brightly as he leaned on the wall next to Robb. “It wasn't a particularly funny joke,” Robb said flatly, nonetheless giving an inward sigh of relief. It was just Theon being his shitty self, “You should have seen your face though,” Theon looked at him, a sly grin on his lips, yet the darkness of his eyes was unsettling.

 

“I certainly did not want to run into you rutting against each other. It wouldn't have been a pretty sight” Robb said evenly, looking away, trying to seem disinterested. Theon's expression didn't change though, and his eyes keep boring into Robb's face. “Oh I know you aren't interested in me like that,” Theon said sharply, his sentence finishing abruptly, as if he had purposely left something hanging. The smirk was still on his face.

 

Robb had just returned the smirk, “Hopefully I'm not disappointing you,” He started walking without signaling Theon to follow, “You should get ready for dinner too,” He walked away, waving his hand over his head as Theon usually did. He finally let a sigh out in relief when Theon's eyes weren't on his face anymore. But the little laugh heard behind him before he made a turn made a chill run down Robb's spine.

 

Supper had been quiet, knowing that the deserter would have to be executed put a damper on any levity. Father had shut down quickly any questions in relation to that, specially Arya's desire to be in the execution. She had protested why Bran could go and not her, she was older. “It's not a lady's place,” mother had said simply, but without giving much room to argue. Arya sulked on her chair. Maybe as much as Jon.

 

“When, when will the execution happen, father?” Bran asked timidly, for all he was expected to attend, Robb worried for his brother's gentle nature. But he hadn't protested or asked to not be present. It was his duty and he would do as it was expected of him.

 

“After the party from Castle Black arrives, and they speak with the captive. I had expected to receive your uncle Benjen with a better mood. It's unfortunate his first night back in Winterfell will be clouded by what must be done,” father took his cup and drunk long, “He's expected to arrive tomorrow, if they have rode well.”

 

After that the conversation had fell silent. Jon probably didn't speak a word, and Robb could only feel sympathy for him. It was always hard for Jon to see his father. Specially after the last time. After supper he had looked for Jon, but was not surprised to see him so down. Maybe Robb should have tried harder to cheer him up besides telling him about Theon's 'joke'.

 

“That was an awful joke” Jon had agreed, his face obscured by the shadows cast by the hallway torch. They didn't say anything else about the incident on the stable, and Jon soon excused himself. Robb had wished so hard to go after him and just hold him.

 

The following day, with Benjen's arrival just before dusk, Jon's day was spent sulking away somewhere hidden. For all the closeness they had regained, Robb was loath to admit he couldn't take comforting Jon as he used when they were children. He wasn't ready to give Jon that physical closeness without his mind betraying him. Still, he made sure to steal some candied fruits from the kitchens and gave them to Jon after dinner. Jon had smiled, and Robb couldn't help to see something more than gratitude in those lips, and the way Jon licked them. He still remembered his smile as they rode to the execution. Robb shook his head, chastising his mind for turning Jon's smile into something it had been not.

 

“Of all the things I have done, this gets me the silent treatment?” Theon's voice brought him back to the present, and Robb hadn't realized how long he had been thinking. He was ready to give Theon a leveling look, but there was something unnerving about the ironborn's smirk. It was a knowing one.

 

“We are to see a man die, Theon. I'm not in the mood for idle chat.” Robb said without looking, and Theon sighed, falling in silence next to him. Robb looked back for some reason, and for a second his eyes caught Jon's. Jon looked to uncle Benjen quickly, their conversation too far away to hear something. He could see Bran by his uncle, speaking from time to time as well. “Look ahead, Robb,” Theon said, and Robb did so, but with a frown, “You can stare at Jon all you want later.” It was starting to become bothersome how much Theon just mentioned Jon, when he used to sometimes pretend he didn't even exist.

 

It had started recently, a day or so after Robb and Jon had talked. “So where's Jon?” “Have you seen Jon?” “You and Jon have been close.” “Where you with Jon? You two have been missing for a while.” And always with that smirk on his face. Robb had tried to deflect those questions without thinking too much on the reason for them, but he became more wary of it by the day. The worst of everything was that Theon's smirk was, for lack of a better word, _kind_. He also called Jon 'Snow' a lot less.

 

They reached the place of the execution, everyone dismounting. Of the three Night's Watch brothers that arrived at the castle, only uncle Benjen had came. Jon remained close to Bran, uncle Benjen walking next to father, Robb standing besides them as well. Theon untied the straps holding Ice to the horse, and carried it with the due solemnity to father. Father removed his gloves and pulled the sword with one movement, the sharp sound echoing the silence, the gleam on the broadsword's edge blinding for a second. Ice was enormous, almost as long as Robb was tall, yet light enough to be brandished; the magic of Valyrian Steel, Robb knew.

 

Robb looked to his side, and Jon firmly grasped Bran's shoulder, speaking to his ear. Bran nodded, his queasy face donning a mask of resolution. Robb looked ahead as well, to the poor soul knelt in front of the ironwood stump, his ragged black clothes contrasting the summer snows at their feet.

 

This is what happened to a man who forsook his duties.

 

“In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I do sentence you to die.” The man's head was cut off with one strike from his father's sword. One fell swoop, and then his head bounced off to a root and next to Theon's feet.

 

Theon grabbed the head with both hands, giving it a intense stare, seeking eyes that wouldn't look back. “Poor bastard” He said with little sentiment, but returned the head to the rest of the body for burial. Benjen remained silent for a moment, and Robb let out a small smile when he saw Jon put a comforting hand on his father's shoulder. Robb made his way to them, eyes careful on one of the horses that had become unsettled.

 

“He died bravely,” Robb said standing in front of his uncle. He looked a lot like Jon, and father, only his hair was longer and straighter. All of the Stark's had straight hair, Jon must have taken his curls from his mother, as Robb had. It was easier to look at his uncle's hair that trying to say something meaningful, “He had courage, at the least”

 

“No, he was dead of fear,” Jon said absentmindedly, before catching himself, “Sorry father,” But Benjen just shook his head. “You haven't said anything that wasn't truth, my son,” Benjen let out a sigh, and the worry lines in his face dissipated, his warm smile finally appearing on his face. “Let's saddle up, time to return home.”

 

Uncle Benjen helped Bran to his pony while Robb and Jon did the same, as most of the party. Father finished to give instructions to the men and mounted his horse. Robb knew perhaps Jon wanted to talk to his father, but perhaps the heaviness of the moment wouldn't make that pleasant. Robb would always keep trying to lessen Jon's burdens. “Hey, Jon?” He called, and Jon looked at him back quickly, “Race you to the bridge?”

 

“Done” Jon smiled, and they rode in an instant, the hooves of the horses kicking up showers of snow. Their horses run, quickly leaving everybody else behind, and it was just him and Jon. Robb knew himself the better rider, but he didn't have the intention of winning. They reached the bridge almost at the same time. It was a tie.

 

Robb turned his horse to face him, but Jon's spirits didn't seem to have been lifted by much. Still, Jon moved his horse closer, seeking closeness. Robb gave him a sad smile, he hated seeing Jon sad, and even if he did not blame uncle Benjen, it always became a thing when he was around. At least this time Robb was not gonna leave Jon suffer alone. He had promised to be the friend Jon needed, no matter how it hurt. Last time uncle Benjen had been around, Jon had spend almost a week sullen after his departure, ending with him getting sloshed on wine and talking against his father. That was the only time he had heard his mother yell at Jon. “Jon, that's enough!” She had chided. It had been such a shock that Jon had practically run away in mumbled excuses, eyes moist with brimming tears. Robb didn't know if those words had hurt, or if Jon had felt ashamed of what he had said, or if he didn't. Mother had looked regretful after, and Robb had been too much of a coward to go after Jon. That day his mind had told him to kiss Jon to make the pain go away, and Robb felt disgusted by himself.

 

It wasn't that Robb didn't want to kiss Jon any less now, but that didn't matter.

 

“I still owe you a dare from our last race.” Robb said with a feigned sigh. Jon looked up, a faint smile forming on his lips. The snow hung from the canopy's behind Jon, shrouding everything but him in white. Black and white, Jon's red lips demanding to be focused upon. Jon looked down, lashes shrouding his eyes, and Robb could swear itwas shyness on his face, “Maybe the dare could be a truth?” Jon said clumsily but looked up, his eyes expectant, hopeful. But suddenly they closed off, and he looked almost guilty. Before Robb could say anything, the corner of his vision caught something breaking the monotony of white behind Jon. It almost looked like a pile of fur. A huge pile of fur.

 

Jon frowned at him, then looked behind, towards were Robb's eyes had been lost. They nodded to each other and moved their horses towards the mound with care. Whatever it was it wasn't moving, and clearly the smell hinted that it wouldn't move anymore. And soon that whatever clearly became a huge wolf. A direwolf.

 

Robb dismounted quickly, walking towards the dead animal. “Be careful.” Jon called. Robb knelt before the beast, eyes already eaten by maggots, the cold doing little to mask the stench of decomposition, a deep wound under its head. Then he heard a yap, and realized the direwolf had been a she.

 

He held up one of the cubs, and turned to Jon. “Go tell father, fast!” Jon disappeared in a flurry of snow, while Robb dusted off snow from the pup's sparse coat. The pup on his hands was small, but not as small as a dog its age should be. Maybe a day, maybe bit more, Robb thought. He returned his eyes to the dead she-wolf, and made count of the rest of the pups. Five. They were freezing cold, and he feared they wouldn't survive. Soon Jon returned and dismounted next to him, helping him by taking another pup in his arms. Soon the rest of the party arrived, Jory Cassel and Theon dismounting and staring at the dead direwolf, and Jory calling for caution. Robb and Jon huddled close to the pups, trying to keep the cold away, exchanging excited smiles. Robb looked up and finally saw father, uncle Benjen and Bran arriving. Theon opened his mouth as if to say something, but his eyes fell from Jon to Robb, and just closed his mouth again.

 

Bran dismounted from his pony, his eyes full of wonderment, and a bit of fear. That disappeared when Robb showed him the pup on his arms, and Brank quickly run to him. He stared at the ball of fur on Robb's chest with wide eyes. “It's okay, you can touch him” Robb said, and Bran took the pup from him, cuddling it closer to his arms. The pup squirmed, still whining, but seeking comfort on Bran's chest. He was so entranced looking at Bran that he didn't pay much attention to what the rest what saying, just that the pups would die soon. Bran looked scared for a second, but Rob tried to give him a reassuring smile.

 

Father came to the corpse, kneeling by the large she-wolf. He bristled her coat reverently, his gloves becoming covered with frost. As Robb was about to tell him about the wound on the she-wolf's neck, father had already grasped something under her head, yanking a stag's antler, snapped and covered in grime. Everyone went silent for a moment, and Robb could see there was something unsettling on his father's eyes.

 

As words about needing to mercy kill the pups rose, Robb couldn't pay much attention, there was definitely something on his father's eyes, something that made his stomach churn. “Hold,” father said. Only then Robb noticed Theon drawing his sword to do the deed, Bran's scared hold on the pup tense. Father looked around the snow, for something.

 

“There are five of them, Lord Stark. Three male, two female” Jon suddenly said, his face serious. And a sadness that only Robb thought able to hear. Father remained silent, searching, but Jon continued. “One for each of the Stark children. The direwolf is the sigil of your house, your children were meant to have these pups, my lord”

 

Father's searching eyes stopped, a mixed feeling on his face. He walked past Jon, his eyes fixed on something behind them. Jon's face remained sad. “We can share,” Robb offered with a smile, but Jon couldn't return it. Robb could try to make Jon happy all of his life, but he didn't know he could ever do something about Jon's feelings about being Snow. He would always try.

 

Father knelt, then turned back to them, what looked like snow on his hands was instead a tuft of white fur. Jon's eyes widened in surprise, and a smile slowly crept in his face as father walked to him. “One for each Stark children” Father put the pup on Jon's arms gently, who became entranced by the pup's red eyes. Father's expression was troubled still, and Robb wasn't sure why. Maybe Robb too should be worried about that antler and what portents it brought.

 

They carried the pups with care back to Winterfell, Harwin, the horse-master, unhappily helping them. Theon didn't want to put a hand on the pups, he just looked at them from a distance. Back on the castle, they set them up on a corner of the stable, at least for the moment. Robb and Jon set warm furs as a bed, the six pups whining and yapping. They had decided to feed them milk with wet rags, and they set to do as much while Bran run to tell Sansa and Arya. The little pups had been hungry, and fought each other fiercely for Robb and Jon's attention. Except the albino one, who Jon had called Ghost, he napped quietly in a corner. Soon, the one Robb had wanted for himself crawled to his sleeping brother, plopping on top of him without waking him, and falling asleep as well.

 

The silence fell, and although comfortable, Robb realized they hadn't been together in the stable since that day with Theon. Jon's eyes caught his, and he knew he was thinking about the same thing. “I'm sorry Theon is such an ass. And I'm glad you punched him” Robb said breaking the silence. It took a moment for Jon to register, but he smiled. “He is,” he replied simply, but there was something else on his expression Robb couldn't quite understand.

 

Jon stared idly for a moment, then his eyes fell on Robb, purposefully “He talks so much shit, I don't know when he is telling the truth.” Robb wasn't sure what he was talking about, and the question hung on his face. Jon looked down at Ghost and Robb's unnamed pup, his expression wistful, or maybe pained, for a second, “I hate that.”

 

Soon after that Bran returned with Arya and Sansa, the three of them squealing with excitement. All of them were late for supper that night, and they all forgot it was a feast.

 

**Jon**

 

“But what if they are cold!” Arya said, digging her heels on the ground. “We left them with enough furs, they'll be alright” Jon responded, for what seemed the tenth time.

 

“What if the run off Jon?” This time it was Sansa who asked, and Jon had to admit it was funny to see Arya nod so fervently. “We secured the door and nailed planks on the bottom, they are not going anywhere. They're sleeping, they are safe. Now go, your lady mother is going to be pissed with us all!” He repeated for what seemed the tenth time as well. His cousins pouted at the same time, looking like the sisters they were, and scampered off to the main hall. Jon bit his lip, and let out a sigh.

 

It took him ten minutes to double back to the stable and make sure the pups were fine. He entered the dining hall almost feeling a bead of sweat on his forehead. People were already sat, eating and laughing. Despise the grim proceedings of the morning, the evening had became a small celebration. Although admittedly frugal, Lord Stark always made sure to have a little feast every time father came to Winterfell. Almost everyone in the castle, and several nearby lords such as the Cerwyns gathered to dine and wine for Benjen Stark. Well, that was the excuse, although father was well loved, people would come anyway for the free food and drink. He heard his father cheer and the room boisterously respond, dozens of cups raised, and immediately emptied. Jon smiled, Winterfell always loved Benjen Stark. It also made him think his mother must have been a very serious lady for Jon to be so solemn. Well, Lady Stark always said that Jon had taken after Lord Stark, as much as everyone agreed Arya took after Lyanna, and Robb to Brandon. Perhaps either Bran or Rickon would take after his father.

 

Jon jogged towards his seat, next to his father who welcomed him with a warm smile. “My son, how are the pups?” There was a slight flush from the wine on father's cheeks, “Sleeping soundly. They are strong.” To that, Arya, Sansa and Bran all smiled, and Lord and Lady Stark gave him gentle nods and smiles. Jon looked around for Robb, but he wasn't sat yet. A serving girl brought him a plate of roasted mutton, and his mouth watered, he hadn't realized how hungry he was. The table was lively, larger than usual. While his younger cousins sat at the other side of the table by Lady Stark's left hand, Jon and Robb's seats were on the right side by Lord Stark, with the brothers of the night's watch, the middle of the table occupied by other nobles and some of their family members. His father spoke, and the table laughed again. Jon realized that his father's sense of humor was very close to Rodrik Forrester, only making him feel more embarrassed by his jealousy the other day. Jon flushed involuntarily, and suddenly he felt eyes on him. The blonde man was a brother of the night's watch he hadn't met, a handsome youth no much older than him, his hair shoulder length and scruff on his face. His shoulder's were wide, and his smile rather pretty. And he was looking at Jon.

 

Jon averted his eyes with a flush, and only then he noticed Sansa and Jeyne utterly besotted with the blond Night's Watch Brother. “Here, you remember Alfrid” his father said suddenly, offering Jon a cup with wine and pointing to the portly man besides him that Jon remembered to be very foulmouthed, but funny, “And he is Cressin, he's from Casterly Rock. Cressin, this is my son” There was a small change of intonation at the last word, and Cressin nodded rapidly, drinking from his cup and then gave Jon a polite nod, then returned to speak with Alfrid. The conversation flowed with the wine, and Jon ate so much he could feel himself bursting, but his father pushed yet another piece of mutton on his plate “You're looking skinny,” he said.

 

Jon finally looked at his aunt and uncle during a lull on the conversation, and although they smiled and ate politely, there was something off about them. He couldn't linger on such thoughts for long as his father called for his attention. “This room is too warm! Mind joining your father for some fresh air?”

 

They left the castle, and the chill of the night was indeed welcomed. Father let out a contended sigh, and found perch by one of the lower walls. Jon smiled, and followed. Soon they both sat on the cold stone, as they always used to do when they were together. The silence was comforting, the stars tiny and bright above them speckling the thankfully clear sky.

 

Father played with his thumbs, as if wanting to say something. “I hope you don't resent your aunt, but she told me about, well, you know.” Jon felt a little chill on his back, but he wasn't surprised. He knew this conversation was gonna happen, and he was surprised that it hadn't already.

 

The night before they had spent mostly catching up with what they have done. Jon had been really impressed by a run in his father had had with some Wildlings west of Castle Black, but father had been very content with Jon's guard duties. “I don't think you need any more discipline Jon, but I'm very proud of you” After that he had given Jon his gift, a rough hatchet with an indistinct wood for handle, but with an incredibly sharp blade, silvery under the moonlight. “Someone tried to kill me with that. Luckily they had bad aim” Jon had happily added it to his weapon collection, he couldn't wait to show it to Robb.

 

But that had been yesterday, and he knew they would have to talk about what Jon had said. “I was angry, and drunk. I'm sorry father” Jon looked down, holding his hands on his lap. “I didn't meant to disrespect you.” Even if a part of Jon did resent the situation, he could never hate his father. He had been nothing but kind and loving. In truth it was easier to blame Benjen instead of how the world saw him. Jon knew he was fortunate enough, and as always his resentment turned to shame. Jon shifted uncomfortably on his seat.

 

“I know you don't,” Benjen said with a sad smile, “You know I love you more than I could ever say with words, right?” To this Jon looked up, feeling his eyes prickle. “I wish I could have given you so much more. I wish so hard things could have been different”

 

“You, you have nothing to apologize for father!” Jon said almost too desperate, eyes locked on his father's, “I have to apologize for my childishness, and for being ungrateful, and...” But father just held him by the shoulder, his hand warm even through his leathers. “Always so dutiful and selfless Jon. I don't blame you for being resentful of your situation. It's okay,” His father said the words, but to Jon they didn't seem right, it couldn't be right to admit that. Jon pulled away a bit, a question on his face, “Even if there has been so much I haven't been able to give you, you always have my ear. Speak in truth to me Jon, I won't judge you.”

 

Jon hesitated for a moment, but even if he thought his resent shameful, he knew his father wouldn't hold that against him, and perhaps he needed to say the words out loud. “I, I know you don't want to talk about mother,” Jon admitted, “And I hope one day you change your mind.” Jon stopped, suddenly nervous.

 

“But that's not all” Father said, and Jon Nodded, “No, that's not all,” Jon looked ahead, the sounds of the dinner barely a murmur from their perch. “They love me, they treat me like family, but I am not a Stark. I know what my place is, I've always heard the whispers around the castle. I don't deserve to sit on their table, I am a bastard, father. I'm never going to be their equal,” Jon felt a prideful tear on his eyes, “I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have such thoughts”

 

But then father let out a little laugh, “I always wondered when we would have this talk,” It wasn't a gentle laugh, it was bitter. “You have always been so understanding, so gentle. I hated to think it was because you felt less than your cousins.” Father's eyes watered, and Jon knew he had made a mistake, “I'm sorry father, I didn't mean, forget what-” But he was cut by a firm hand.

 

“Don't apologize, my son. Don't,” His father looked at him, his eyes intensely wide and bright. “You are no less than they are, you have Stark blood in your veins as they do. Know that, always know that.” Jon nodded, cowed by the intensity, “If things had been different, I, I could have raised you, and you'd have my name,” His father's voice became mixed with anger for a moment, but he shook his head, “But you are still my son, you are as much as any Stark in Winterfell. Don't look down upon yourself Jon, you are my pride and joy. Let them whisper, let them. I know your value, and I hope one day you do too. And I know one day you'll be the best of any of us, and it won't be because your name, but because who you are in here,” Jon's eyes then were wide open as his father gently patted his chest, “You are allowed to feel your feelings, you don't have to hide them. feel angry, feel frustrated, life wasn't fair to you, I know. Allow yourself that, only then you can look ahead, and be the man you want to be,” The words flowed from his father effortlessly, known, as if it had been something he had wanted to say for a while. “ I know you Jon, you are the best son any father could have wished for. And I'm sorry my love wasn't enough” At that Jon couldn't help himself, and embraced his father tightly, like when he was a child and wanted to go to the wall with him.

 

Jon hadn't realized how heavy his self loathing had became. Now he felt like he could breathe, was that all he needed, his father's embrace and absolution? He needed a lot more of growing up to do. Jon had let himself be consumed by his doubts in silence, too prideful even in his inferiority. “I know my place” had became an incantation on his head, words that would shield him from his own resentment and frustration. Jon had closed off himself from feeling those things, but it had made him believe he deserved nothing else, nothing more. Even when the actions of those closest to him always told him differently. And now told him so, both Robb and his father. That was what mattered. He clung to his father closer, eyes shut, his tears dampening his father's black doublet.

 

He felt his father's hand on his hair, and he cried until he felt spent.

 

They returned to the dining hall once that Jon's tears had dried up. He felt much better. They sat back in their place, and Jon realized Robb was already there; Jon wasn't sure how long he was outside. Robb appeared bothered for a second, until his eyes fell on the arriving Jon. He smiled.

 

“Are you okay?” Robb mouthed from his seat, and Jon gave him a nod. He did. He felt he could run to and back to the wall, he felt he could fly to the sun and back. He felt he could hold Robb's hand and tell him he loved him. The idea that Robb could be in love with him didn't feel as risible. He had indeed spent the last two days trying to find sings that Robb was in love with him, but Jon had realized he didn't know what that would look like. He didn't think it would look any different. They loved each other, they had since forever. The question was if Robb wanted him.

 

Jon grabbed his cup and drank, the sweet summerwine making him bold. He wanted Robb, all those times he imagined him with his shirt off, all those times he wondered how deep the trail of his coarse red hair went, all the times he admired the broadness of his back and the ripple of his muscles, all the times he imagined his lips saying his name. All the time he saw those blue eyes even with his own closed. Even when he touched himself. Jon refilled his cup with a cheer from Alfrid, and drank again.

 

Jon wanted Robb, and that moment more than anyone before, because for the first time he didn't thought himself as less. The thought that Robb could want him, not just love him as he'd love a pet, but desire him, sent a shiver through Jon's spine. Greyjoy was waving his hands for some reason, talking to someone, and Jon hoped for his own good he hadn't been lying. With the trepidation of a possible certainty, Jon settled himself, hoping to enjoy the rest of the evening.

 

“Crissen!, ale or wine!?” Alfrid shouted, and the handsome blond answered. “Wine! Tis' the sweetest sumerwine I've had since-”

 

“Casterly Rock, yes” Alfrid rolled his eyes while he poured the wine on Crissen's cup. They laughed, as if it was a joke shared between the two of them. Jon's eyes fell on Robb again, and he raised his cup to him, Robb smiled back, and Jon hoped it to be genuine.

 

“If you'll excuse me gentlemen, me and my lord husband have some issues to attend with my good-brother” Lady Stark announced as she stood up. To Jon she still looked somewhat off, but he hadn't really talked with her in all the evening. She straightened her dress delicately, then let her eyes rest on her youngest children. Sansa nodded, a smile on her face and a slight blush in her cheeks as she stood up, Bran following up quickly. While Vaelon Pool signaled Jayne much the same way, Arya remained seated, intently hearing the conversations around. Lady Stark waited a minute before calling her. “Arya, time for bed” Arya's eyes fell quickly on her mother. For a moment it seemed there would be words between them, but Arya just huffed and stood up. “Robb! Remember to go check on the pups!”

 

“Why don't yo do it?” Robb answered, the cup in front of his lips and a question on his brow. “Mom already sent me to bed, sorry,” Arya said with little feeling. Soon septa Mordane arrived, and the children trailed behind her after doing their curtsies and saying their goodbyes.

 

“Good night Jon, have fun tonight” His father clasped him on the shoulder and gave him a gentle smile, and Jon smiled back. Lord and Lady Stark walked to his father, and then the three walked out of the dining all at a leisure pace. Jon noticed how as they left the room, Maester Luwin joined them, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

 

With the ladies gone from the table, the conversation inevitably turned rowdier. Greyjoy started for what seemed like the hundredth time his tale of when he bed two smallfok women at once, and how they should have payed him for his love making. Both he and Robb rolled their eyes at the same time and smiled.

 

“One day you will fall in love lad!” Alfrid boasted, a huge grin showing off his yellow teeth, “And it will hurt like a devil. Oy, that will be a laugh” The table cheered, and surprisingly, Greyjoy seemed to regard the thought with fondness. Maybe he had already fallen in love, not that Jon had even worried about that. Almost sensing that he was thinking about him, Grejoy's pale eyes fell on Jon, “And what about you Snow, have you fallen in love?” He asked loud enough for only Jon to hear, and perhaps Robb.

 

Jon laughed, and not really with malice, “And do you think I'd tell you?” Greyjoy laughed, and drank from his cup. “I thought we were friends Jon! You hurt me!” He drunk again, slowly this time, and emptying the cup, “I already told you a secret,” it was a whisper, and Jon smiled without looking at him.

 

“Benjen's boy!” Alfrid called, his eyes sparkling with rejoice. He sat beside a couple Stark bannermen Jon always saw around but never had learned their names. “Jon!” He called back, not in reproach, but firmly.”

 

“Jon that is, I've met a lot of Jon's. My father was a Jon, asshole of a man!” He laughed and Jon just smiled tightly. “Aye, no offense lad, your father thinks the world of you.”

 

“That I know.”

 

“Haha! True true. He'd kill me if I tell you this, but fuck it! You are good with a sword, everyone here tells me that!” At that everyone around cheered, and Jon couldn't help but to feel pride. His eyes obviously searched for Robb, and he was glad to see pride in them too, “Why don't you join the Night's Watch? With all these deserters, we need true northmen in our ranks.” Eyes fell expectantly on Jon, but he didn't felt embarrassed.

 

“It would be a great honor to join the Night's Watch” Jon responded, and he saw Robb's face fell for a second, “But this is were I belong. I pledge my sword the Starks, and I will give my life for them if it comes to.” He said truthfully. The evening's revelations had not dulled his sense of duty and honor. He was a Stark after all. There were several cheers of approval, even Greyjoy nodded at him, but none of them mean as much as Robb's quiet nod.

 

“Lad, but you are a bastard! You don't belong here!” Alfrid's laugh boomed, and slowly faded into the silence around him. He looked around, suddenly realizing the mood had completely changed. Crissen gave him one murderous look, but said nothing.

 

“Jon's place is in Winterfell!” Robb's voice cut the silence, and boomed though the room, sounding much like the lord he one day would be. He stood up, and he towered over Alfrid, a torch casting shadows across his face, making his hair appear like live fire. “He's an Stark in everything but name, and as long I'm in this castle, as long as I live, he will be by my right side.” His eyes fell on Jon with an intensity that made him shiver “I wouldn't have anyone else in his stead, and it would pain me greatly if he ever decided to leave.” At those words, Robb's voice faltered, but only slightly, “You belong in Winterfell Jon, always.” Robb raised his glass, and Alfrid was the first raising his, his laugh booming as the rest of the men joined on the toast.

 

“Aye, I get why won't you leave now! Sorry lad,” Alfrid smiled his yellow smile, and it was genuine, “Sometimes I forget family is supposed to care for one. And yours truly does!” There was another round of cheering, but Jon's eyes only wanted to find Robb's.

 

A hint of embarrassment still lingered on Robb's cheeks, and he looked beautiful. Robb was always beautiful to Jon's eyes, strong and powerful and beautiful. And Greyjoy said Robb loved him. He looked at his side, and Greyjoy's stare was already waiting for him, an imperceptible nod to Jon before returning his attention to the table. Should Jon trust him? Jon's eyes returned to Robb, and he made his choice.

 

Jon knew it was the worst idea he ever had, and in his mind he knew all the reasons why he should never act on those feelings, regardless if they were reciprocated. He looked at Robb, and bit his lower lip on the most shameless way he could. Robb blushed and he looked away, surprised. Jon felt his head rush, sudden realization of what he had done making him flush with heat. He looked down, trying to loose himself on the woodgrain of the table.

 

“I should check the pups” Robb announced to no one in particular, and then stood up. Jon remained seated, unable to move, a cold sweat running down his back. What had he done?”

 

Someone asked him something, and he couldn't respond at first. “Yeah, tomorrow I have the late watch,” He answered, hoping the question had indeed been about his guard duties. He drunk from his cup again, suddenly thirsty. The cup was then empty, and he looked up. “Snow” Greyjoy called to him, an exasperated expression on his eyes.

 

“Uh?”

 

“Go find Robb,” Greyjoy sighed and poured himself more wine.

 

Jon just nodded, and stood up. Only then he realized Crissen was also gone from the table.

 

 

**Robb**

 

He couldn't breathe anymore. He didn't knew what breath even was anymore. He couldn't do it, he just couldn't. It had been a mad cruelty he had tried to impose into himself, A punishment? It felt like so, because every time he started at Jon's eyes, he wanted to die. It had been working, enough at least. He could smile for him, he could be the friend Jon deserved, it didn't matter that when he was away, Robb still felt cold inside. But at least Jon smiles were enough to not freeze over.

 

But something had changed on the last two days, Jon's smiles weren't warm, they were almost, heated. Robb was sure it was he who was seeing things that were not there, but it had came to the point he didn't know anymore, Was there even a point were he had any clue what he had been doing? Jon's smiles hid a flush behind, eyelids drawn low, and Robb had to look away, because his head couldn't see them as anything but flirting. It was all on Robb's head, it must had been. He had failed in what he had set in barely a week. It was all on his head.

 

Jon biting his lip with heavy lidded eyes couldn't have been on his head. That just wasn't possible. Maybe it was. But Jon's completely mortified expression after? That was definitely not in Robb's his head. It wasn't something he had actually ever thought of, Jon being seductive. Him becoming beet red and looking down hiding behind his curls after made more sense that the first thing. It couldn't be only on his head.

 

Robb leaned on the stable door, looking down at the sleeping pups. The horses whinnied quietly on the far on the other side. He braced himself firmly, because he was looking down a precipice. What if Jon wanted him too? He tried to swallow his heart back to his chest, but it remained stubbornly stuck on his throat. That couldn't be. That could be the worst thing to ever happen, because Robb knew he couldn't resist even for a second if he knew Jon would reciprocate his touch, his kisses, his heated words. Robb's pant's felt tight, and he could feel sweat beading on his temples. Jon couldn't want him back, because Robb couldn't, wouldn't say no.

 

He felt dread on his chest, oppressive like a vice on his lungs. He had a duty, to his family, to his name, to his legacy, to the north. He would marry a highborne lady, and sire heirs that would carry the Stark name. How could he do that fucking his own cousin? The dread was mixed with bile, both tastes fighting for dominance on his mouth. He wouldn't shame his lady wife. He'd rather never marry then, he'd name Bran or Rickon his heirs. Yes.

 

Robb let out a groan, a sigh following right after. He couldn't, couldn't he? He was so quick to toss away his duties if it meant he could feel Jon's lips under his. He'd forsake his own name if he could feel his naked body under his. He was weak.

 

“Apologies my lord” Robb turned around surprised. It took him a moment to notice the Night's Watch brother outside the stable, the pale moonlight making his hair look like a waterfall of silver, Cressin was his name, “Didn't mean to startle you” He said with a smile, and Robb gulped. He had been looking at Robb for a lot of the evening, and Robb had a little more experience now to read those looks. He knew exactly what Crissen wanted.

 

And Robb couldn't want Jon. He couldn't.

 

Robb turned to Crissen as he entered the stable, he could feel his skin covered with sweat, he was hot under his clothes, even with the night's chill. Crissen gave him an appraising look, and only then Robb noticed how obvious the bulge in his pants was. Crissen opened his mouth expectantly, confident about what was going to happen.

 

Robb couldn't want Jon. And Crissen wasn't Jon.

 

“On your knees” Robb said with a voice so dark and low it wasn't his. But Crissen only smiled, his teeth perfectly square behind his lips. He knelt in front of Robb, and placed his hand over Robb's cock through his trousers. Robb felt a shiver go through his spine. Besides Ros, no one had touched him there, and the roughness of the hand even over his trousers was exhilarating. If Crissen was Jon, Robb thought he would already spent himself. Robb closed his eyes, and reached for Crissen's head, pulling him closer. His hair was straight and long, but he could pretend. He couldn't want Jon, but he could pretend the hot breath on his crotch was his.

 

“Jon” Robb called, and he heard Crissen smile. “You can call me however you want, my lord” Crissen rubbed himself against Robb's crotch, and he could even feel the scrape of his scruff through the fabric. He kept his eyes closed, wishing it was Jon. Then he felt deft fingers on the waist of his pants, a soft caress on the hairs below his navel, then the tug of the laces being undone.

 

He then heard a a loud thud, and opened his eyes shocked. He looked around, and everything was in silence, no one around. Something had been pushed? It almost sounded like a plank falling to the ground. He couldn't see anyone. Crissen looked up, his face flushed with desire, expectant. Robb's heart was fluttering, his eyes still looking around panicked. “I think you should go” Robb said with more fear than conviction. Crissen pouted, and rubbed himself again against his crotch again. Robb stopped him, placing his sweaty palms on top of his dark furs. “I mean it.” This time there was command on his voice, and Crissen only let a sigh of disappointment.

 

“As you wish, milord,” Crissen said frustrated, giving a mock salute while he stood up. He then looked around, his eyes scornful. “I am sorry, I, I didn't mean to insult you. It's just-” Robb wasn't unable to finish, Cressin rising his hand to stop him. “It's alright my lord,” He sighed, “maybe next time?” He offered mischievously, and Robb gave him a weak nod, because part of him definitely would want to take that offer.

 

Crissen tidied himself up, and disappeared into the night. Robb was sure this would be the last time a handsome man would throw himself at him, he wasn't being appreciative of the fortune the gods kept sending to him. Maybe he should have just spend himself on Crissen's mouth and be done with it; but still, it felt like a betrayal to Jon. Jon, whom he couldn't want. He let out a frustrated groan. He couldn't have it either way. One of the pups yelped, it was Robb's. He nuzzled closer to Ghost, and felt comfortably silent again.

 

Robb straightened his clothes, even when his erection refused to leave him. He wrapped his cloak around, trying to hide his shame. He looked around one last time, wondering what had he heard. He sighed, and left the stables quietly. He soon noticed the plank of wood carelessly thrown in the middle of the yard. He looked to his side, and now he could clearly notice how it had been torn out from the side of the stable, near the bottom. A chill run down his spine. Someone had done it, someone had done it to interrupt him on the stable. Robb turned around slowly. He did not breath when he saw Jon's darkened form against the moonlight.

 

“Jon” He might have said, he thought so, He couldn't hear even his own voice drowned by the sound of his heart, “What are you doing here?” He was sure his voice was showing all the panic he felt. Jon walked closer, slowly, and Robb could see anger on his eyes. “I was looking for you” Jon sneered, and Robb knew he had seen him. Robb felt disgusting. Jon had seen him, and now there was only anger on his eyes.

 

“You found me” Robb said, turning around and walking away, not a single clue of his destination. He felt Jon's footsteps behind him, and he wanted to get away. Jon saw him as disgusting, and Robb couldn't even look at him. How had he ever thought Jon would want him? Robb was a sick man, he should keep walking until his legs gave out and he dropped dead. “We need to talk” Jon said behind him, but Robb couldn't stop. He kept walking, the the sounds of the dining hall dying out on the distance. “What there is to talk about, Jon?” He wasn't deflecting, he genuinely thought there was nothing to talk about, Whatever Jon had seen, it had disgusted him. There wasn't need for any more words.

 

Robb saw the library tower ahead, unguarded as it usually was. Maybe he could hid inside, but Jon would follow. “I want to talk about getting your cock sucked off in the stable” Jon said hatefully, “Do you think you can spare a second for me, my lord?” Robb felt a chill down his spine, and his feet gave out. But then soon Jon's arm was pulling him, and he realized too late Jon was dragging him to the library tower.

 

The door closed behind them, and there was only darkness and the sound of his beating heart for a moment. The flame flickered above his head, Jon quickly bringing the now lit torch down, and walking upstairs. Maybe Robb could run away now. But Jon looked over his back with dark eyes, and Robb knew he better shouldn't. Jon continued going up the steps again, and Robb followed, like a lamb to the slaughter.

 

They reached a small room with a desk, this was the place Maester Luwin worked on his translations. Robb used to sneak up here to get away sometimes. There were piles of books on a small desk, only one chair by it. Jon placed the torch on an empty sconce on the wall, then looked back at Robb, directly into his eyes. Not even bothering to hide his disgust. Robb let out a sigh, his fantasies of Jon wanting him back gone. Only the harsh reality of Jon's reproach on his eyes. Maybe tonight he would loose Jon forever, maybe Jon would run away and he would never see him again. Perhaps it would be for the best. He'd rather be hollowed out that have to look at Jon's scornful face ever again.

 

“Well,” Robb said defeated, “You were right. I had been hiding something. Now you know. Now you truly know who I am.” Robb shrugged, suddenly tired, he just wanted to close his eyes.

 

“Bullshit,” Jon spat with anger, “I've always known who you are.”

 

“Did,” Robb frowned, his hand flying in front of him on a gesture of disbelief, “Did you knew this? Did you know I want men to suck me off?” Robb said hysterically, and also with hostility, because he didn't have another defense. “That's not who you are,” Jon looked away, the anger in his voice finally receding somewhat, but Robb had to laugh.

 

“Had you not interrupted, I would have.”

 

“And Forrester? Did anyone interrupt you that night?” Jon came closer to him, there was something wild on his eyes, and Robb feared they might come to blows.

 

“Nothing happened” Robb said, not knowing why he had to, “I, I couldn't.”

 

“Why?” Jon demanded, his frown etched more sharply by the light of the torch, the disgust on his face perhaps something else.

 

“Why do you care?” Robb looked away, and tried to put some distance, but he only managed to walk himself to a wall, “I can see the disgust in your eyes Jon, why would you suffer my presence any longer?” He turned his back to the wall, his palms pressed between the wall and his back.

 

“Don't tell me what I feel!” Jon shouted, the anger back on his face, but now the was clearly pain behind it. “I know what I feel. I know.” Robb looked at him, and didn't know what to do. They fell into a painful silence.

 

Jon shook his head, proudly. “No. I'm fucking tired,” He said, “Something is broken, and it can't be fixed. And I don't want to fix it. “ Robb looked at Jon, not wanting to believe his words, doing his best to keep the tears from forming on his eyes, “I've been trying so hard for things to go back as they were, to be the children we once were. But we can't.”

 

“If you are so disgusted by me-”

 

“Shut up!” Jon yelled, and came close to him, so close he could see the purple darkness beneath the gray on his eyes, “I'm talking, Robb.” Jon threatened, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Perhaps we are still children. Idiot children,” Jon looked away for a second but he didn't move. Robb only then realized Jon had been just rambling, “Idiot children that don't talk.” Jon said finally, his eyes boring deep into Robb's.

 

“Jon-” Robb started, but he didn't know what to say. Jon let out a pained sigh, his words coming slowly. “Why did you call my name Robb?”

 

“What?” Robb's sweat turned cold. Jon had heard. Gods he had heard.

 

“When you had Crissen between your legs, why did you call my name?” Jon's face was dark, and Robb wanted to run, wanted to fly. Wanted to not be there. “Because I want you,” He said the truth instead, for once. What else was there to be done?

 

Jon let out a sigh, a pained one. He took a step back, his face contorted in anguish, or something Robb couldn't even begin to read, “Then why wasn't it me?” He said mostly to himself, but then he looked up, “Then why wasn't it me?” His face steeled, and the determination on it wasn't a mask.

 

Robb wanted to cry, shout, yell, “How can I disgrace you like that Jon? I love you. I'd rip my own heart to- to make you happy. How can I take advantage of you, your kindness, your loyalty, your pure love for me? I'm disgusting Jon, I'd would never ask you to -debase yourself for me.” Robb cried then, relief and shame mixed on his tears. He didn't care anymore.

 

Jon shook his head, a grimace on his face, and then pushed Robb against the wall. “I belong with you, I belong to you, Robb” Jon said, and Robb wanted to cry even more because there was no end to Jon's loyalty to him. He'd do anything for Robb. But then Jon's expression changed, the determination letting through something heated and wild, his fingers tightening almost painfully on Robb's shoulders, and Robb gasped. “And you belong to me Robb Stark. You are mine.” Jon bit his lower lip again, edges of red forming beneath his teeth.

 

In that moment there was no breath, no heartbeat anymore. Only Jon's dark eyes in front of him. Maybe Robb had died, and this was the fantasy of his dying mind. Or the last respite before complete abandon. Jon wanted him, he truly wanted him. The precipice was real, and they would fling themselves headfirst. “Jon” Robb raised his hands, and they held Jon's face tenderly, desperately. “Always. Since there's memory. I'm yours,” Robb said with pain, and Jon's hand came to his face, moving his curls away from his eyes. This was all Robb ever wanted, and he knew he shouldn't still. “Can't you see Jon? This is a curse. How can I be the lord of Winterfell when all I want is you? You deserve more than that. I can't have you hidden, behind the back of my lady wife, how can I disrespect you like that? You deserve to be honored and loved and respected. I can't give you that” Still Jon's face edged closer, and Robb didn't make any effort to release his face. Jon's breath was hot on his face, his hand still caressing him.

 

“You are not married yet, Robb. You don't have a wife.”, Jon said with exasperation, “I don't care about oaths you have not yet made. You belong to me and I to you, that's the truth. That has always been the truth. I don't wanna deny it anymore Robb” Jon shook his head, and Robb's right hand buried itself on his nape, “We deserve more. I deserve more. Even if it's for a moment, I want. Selfishly, I want _you_ Robb,” As he said that his free hands run own Robb's chest, setting the trace aflame, “I want to feel you beneath me, I want to taste you, swallow you whole. Fuck everything else,” Jon's face came close, his lips and beard scraping against his face.

 

The floor disappeared from beneath their feet, and Robb jumped. He kissed Jon with fury, need, desperation. Jon responded in kind, his hands grasping at him with abandon, his shoulders, his waist, his chest. Jon's hands were definitely greedy, but not as much as his mouth. He had no finesse, more teeth than lips, and Robb wanted that forever. He tightened his hold on Jon's nape, pulling him even closer, and Jon pushed against him, their bodies thumping against the wall, the cold of the stone surreal against the involving heat of Jon's body. Part of Robb always thought Jon pliant under him, because even in his fantasies he had to hate himself and feel like he was using Jon. But in the reality, Jon didn't held back.

 

Jon's hands snapped the clasp of Robb's fur cloak, and pushed it down with haste. Then his mouth fell hungrily on Robb's neck, the scrape of hair and teeth making Robb shiver and push Jon's head closer. Jon's hands continued to undress Robb, his deft fingers desperately undoing the laces of his jerkin, and Robb could only brace himself at the thought of Jon's need to have him naked. Jon yanked the jerkin off brusquely, and Robb groaned in pleasure, and soon Jon's hands were working on his over-tunic, getting rid of it as quickly. Jon grinned, his eyes fixed on the coarse red hairs peeking above the collar of Robb's tunic, and he tugged at it with such desperation he tore at the fabric.

 

Robb's chest was bare, heaving up and down under his labored breath, and Jon stared at it reverently for a moment. “You are gorgeous,” he said running his hand down Robb's torso, following the trail of hair all the way down, and Robb was finally, painfully, aware of the unbearable hardness trapped on his smallclothes, “I always wondered how much hair you have down here,” Jon's eyes gleamed with lust, his fingertips caressing the waistband of Robb's trousers, yet not going any lower, not touching the painful tightness of Robb's crotch. Robb bucked his hips, needing to be touched, and Jon smirked.

 

He didn't touch him, but instead flushed himself against Robb, against his hips and his bare chest, and Robb let out a pained sound. Jon undid his cloak, and Robb could feel his heat even through his leathers. But he wanted more. “Would, would you undress for me?” Robb managed to ask through heavy breaths, and Jon asked, “Will you help?” They worked together on the laces of Jon's jerkin, all their fingers more on a hindrance than anything, but every touch of their fingertips against each other was a delight in itself. They did quick worked off his leathers, joining Robb's on the floor. Robb didn't have as much patience for Jon's over-tunic, and ripped the clasps with one swift motion of his arms. Jon's eyes clouded with want, his hands reaching for Robb's bare arms, grasping the muscles of his biceps, his stare reverent. Jon had thought about this, and that made Robb shiver. He took his time removing Jon's tunic, allowing his finger's to ghost over the pale skin of his chest. He was a lot more hairless than Robb was, but the strength of his muscles was evident under pale skin, making Robb's mouth water with desire.

 

They stared at each other's naked torsos, with want, without shame. Robb closed the distance, and gave Jon a kiss, more tender than lustful, and felt Jon come undone under his arms. “The gods damn me, this is all I ever wanted,” Robb said with a smile, feeling Jon's bare skin against his chest. Jon pushed him, and Robb didn't care that the stone on his back was cold, because now he could feel Jon's hardness pushing against him. Jon buried his head on Robb's neck again, suckling on his flesh, and Robb's hand reached down Jon's back, caressing the firmness of his ass, and pushing him closer, until the pressure on his cock almost hurt. But Robb wanted something else first. He dropped to his knees. He had never done this, but how many times had he imagined it so? He felt Jon's hardness through his trousers, and started undoing his laces, until the fullness in his smallcloths was obvious. He looked up, Jon's face darkened by the shadows, the gleam in his eyes almost incandescent. “May I?” Robb asked, his low voice a growl, even when he had willed himself demure. He saw Jon's throat work itself up and down, and Jon shook his head in disbelief, “I, you shouldn't be on your knees.” To that Robb laughed heartily, “It's where I want to be, my lord.” Jon let out a breathless sigh, and Robb could feel Jon's cock stir under his palm, “You like that, my lord?” Jon nodded dumbly, and Robb grinned mischievously.

 

Jon let out an obscene growl as Robb pulled his smallcloths down. Robb stared for a second, wide eyed at the cock in front of him, Jon's cock. He greedily took it on his mouth, with the discipline of a wild wolf, even if he had no idea what he was doing. Jon's legs buckled, and he had to embrace himself on the sconce in front of him to not fall down. For some reason that sound was too loud, but Robb was too preoccupied with swallowing as much of Jon as he could. Suddenly he felt himself being pulled upwards, and was disconcerted for a second when he saw Jon's panicked face above him.

 

“Someone's coming up!” Jon freaked out, trying to pull his pants up. Robb cursed silently, thinking what the hell master Luwin had to do in the library so late. He grabbed the clothes around them with both hands,and threw them over the shelf across the desk, making them fall on a forgotten heap of books that never seemed to be touched. He grabbed the torch, and stepped on it with all the care his panicky heart could muster, extinguishing the fire. He could now hear the steps, and it wasn't just one person. “Shit” she cursed, reaching around to find Jon's arm. When he had him on his hold, he reached around the wall. They scurried their way on the dark, until Robb found with relief the handle of the small storage room beneath the next level of stairs, he pushed Jon inside, and closed the door behind him.

 

Jon held him close, shivering. He shouldn't have thrown their clothes, he thought recriminatory. He heard a little giggle behind him, and he couldn't believe that Jon found this funny. They were naked, in a storage room hiding. Robb couldn't help to give a little laugh on his own, but then shushed himself and Jon. They both were shivering, and uncomfortably cramped between the crates of linens and bottles. Robb sat himself above the sturdiest one, and gently pulled Jon to sit on top of him. He buried his face on Jon's nape, and he felt Jon's hand caressing his thigh up and down.

 

**Luwin**

 

Ned gave Maester Luwin a quizzical stare, but he just shrugged as he opened the door to the tower. The maester had to swallow a curse realizing he had left it unlocked once again. He said nothing and entered the dark tower, although he could almost feel Lord Stark's glare on his back. He reached for the torch on the sconce, and it was not there. Perhaps he indeed did not took enough care of the tower. He could have tidied up better if he had been informed earlier of this meeting. He thought self-righteously.

 

He reached to the other side of the wall, and at least there was a torch there. He sighed in relied, and set it alight, finally being able to look around. At the door, the faces of Lord Stark, his lady wife and Benjen Stark stared back at him, each one with different degrees of spent patience. He just nodded at them carelessly, signaling them to follow.

 

The door was firmly locked behind them by Benjen, and the small group went up the stairs. They climbed in silence, and the sound of their loud steps felt unsettling, ominous. Master Luwin had no doubt what they would talk this night would be of great importance. He did not put much stock on old wives tales and portents, but not even he could disregard the unsettling tale of the dead direwolf. And perhaps even greater, the letter that had arrived earlier through raven. Dark wings, dark words.

 

They finally reached Luwin's dispatch, and he couldn't stop himself from feeling a bit embarrassed for how poorly he had taken care of the place. He didn't have time for it, and he couldn't trust any servant with these documents, they were to be treated with care and respect. The light of the torch hit an old pile of books, and he could see rat droppings on top of them. He sighed, and quickly moved the torch away, looking for that damned sconce.

 

He placed the torch on it with a victory sigh when he found it. He turned around, and he noticed Lord Stark's eyes fell on the floor, something catching his attention. Luwin hoped there weren't more rat droppings. He reached down and he held something on his fingers, something shiny but that Luwin couldn't make out so far away. His eyes weren't the same. Lord Stark looked up, a holding the metal piece it in front of him, a frown on his brow.

 

“Must be Robb's” Lady Stark said to him, grabbing the piece with her gloved fingers. Luwin stood next to her, finally noticing it was a small silver clasp. “He likes to come to read here sometimes.” Luwin let out a bothered sigh, Lady Stark's eyes falling on him playfully. “Maybe if the door was locked, he wouldn't get in so easily.” He could only shake his head.

 

Benjen set ablaze another torch, finally giving the room more clarity. Luwin offered the lone chair to his liege lord, and then to his lady wife when he refused. When both she and Benjen passed on it, Luwin finally allowed his tired bones to rest on it with a contended sigh. Benjen cleared his throat, his expression somber as he leaned on the wall next to the small window. As far as Luwin knew, he had not been informed about the contents of the letter, perhaps that would be where the conversation should start.

 

“Where do we begin?” Benjen asked instead, and Luwin wondered if there was even more to be spoken about, and that thought worried him.

 

“Jon Arryn is dead.” For a moment it sounded like an echo. Lady Stark said the news heavily, and master Luwin realized it was not just sadness for the passing of of a good-brother, there was almos, terror behind her face. Lord Stark held her close, planting a sweet kiss on her forehead. It would have been a tender sight if it hadn't been something as strange as seeing Lord Stark dance.

 

“Those are dire news. I know you loved him like a father Ned” Benjen said, yet another question seemed hidden behind his lips. “Thank you brother. Yet there's still much else to tell you two. All we will speak of today, it won't leave these rooms.” He said evenly, his voice powerful, and Maester Luwin couldn't help to swallow. The night had suddenly turned too chill for his old bones.

 

“Jon's Arryn's death, the direwolves, the antler on the she-wolf's throat,” Lord Stark said ominously. Luwin and Benjen looked at each other, they both could see the portents there. Lord Stark continued “The King, Robert, he will come to Winterfell. And I will return with him to King's Landing,” Luwin frowned, the letter said nothing about the King naming Lord Stark his new had, although he could see it as the real reason for his announced journey to WInterfell. But that seemed like a lot of conjecture, a thing lord Stark wasn't prone to. The certainty on his words made Luwin shiver, and not just from the cold.

 

“And my head will roll down the Sept of Baelor in King's Landing.” Lord Stark said the words heavily, and everyone remained silent. Lady Stark held him closer with a tight grasp, her eyes darkened by the inky shadows cast by the torch behind her.

 

Luwin sat up as fast as he could “That you can't possibly know my lord!” He felt himself almost yelling, as if that could push the dread that grasped at his heart away. Lady Stark let go of her husband's arm, her eyes, ancient and terrible, looking through Luwin, “Oh, but I know. I have seen. The gods are good, Maester, I know that even if their gift has filled me with dread for almost ten years.”

 

The maester fell back to his chair, suddenly feeling too old, too scared. Back then he had thought her ramblings just the symptoms of a hard pregnancy; he had been dismissive. Greensight, old wives tales, that's what they were. How wrong had he been. _Jon Arryn is dead._ Luwin had already heard that, many years before that, Lady Stark's eyes lost on the wall in front of her. He had forgotten. _Poisoned by a bad fish._ Benjen Stark looked at her, his face caught in surprise and then something else. But he said nothing. None of them said anything.

 

“I saw many horrible, painful visions, so horrible that in dreams I clawed my own eyes out. But I also saw truth. And hope. But the gift was not mine to keep,” She held her hands to her stomach and her face became pained, “It was always Bran's, even when he was inside of me.” She sighed, suddenly looking years older, “How I wished they had been nothing but dreams, yet not even back then I could deny their truth.”

 

Benjen's eyes opened wide, his mouth falling open. “Ned never told you about Jon, didn't he?” Maester Luwin shifted on his seat uncomfortably, the truth of Jon's parentage a secret only he and Lord Stark had know once, but that somehow his lady wife had learned off. Lord Stark had always been adamant she could never know. Then one day she just knew, and then Benjen. And they never spoke of the how. When Luwin had checked out of curiosity, Raeghar Targaryen's letter remained covered in dust in his desk as it had for the last six years, Lady Stark hadn't learned that truth form it.

 

Lady Stark walked to Benjen, and held his hands. “The gods took pity on my wretched soul, they showed me. How could I hate Jon when I knew who his mother was?” Tears formed on her eyes, and she clasped at Benjen's hands even more tightly, “How could I hate him when he's my husband's and my good-brother's nephew?” She said with unbridled emotion as she tightly held Benjen's hands, “You have always been right, Ben, Arya looks exactly like Lyanna. I saw,” Benjen held her hands back with desperation, anger for a fraction of a moment as it fell on his brother. His eyes returned to Lady Stark full of pain, “Jon's father, is he -it's Raeghar, isn't it?” She nodded, and Benjen let out a grave sigh, letting go of her hand.

 

Benjen had never asked who Jon's father was. Luwin had assumed he knew it already, before everyone else. He and Lyanna had always been close; even when Lyanna looked up to Ned, Benjen had always been her best friend. Of course he had known. Benjen's eyes widened, fear clear in them. “You can't let Robert Baratheon come to Winterfell!” Benjen yelled, his eyes falling on his brother, and he started walking around the room, “He'll kill him Ned, you can't let him kill my Jon!”

 

“He will never know Jon is a Targaryen, never!” Lord Stark run to him and grasped his brother's shoulder's, rooting him in place. It reminded Luwin too much of when Lord Rickard and Brandon had died. “Jon is our blood, he's the son of your heart, and you know he would have gladly be mine. I'd die if it meant to keep Jon safe.” There was no room for doubt in his voice, only promise.

 

“We all would,” Lady Stark said with the fierceness of the wolf she had became. She then walked to Benjen, touching his tear stricken face with one hand, “I would gladly die for any of my children, and you are damn sure that includes Jon,” Lord Stark stared at her with awe and pride, “I would gladly pay that price, for the gods themselves spoke to me and allowed me to love him.” She held his face with both hands then “I'd die for him. I'd kill for him. I'd kill Robert Baratheon with my own hands and proudly become a Kingslayer. This I swear to you Benjen, for your sister's son, for the son of your heart.”

 

Benjen Stark nodded, his face in awe, much alike the awe, and maybe terror, Maester Luwin felt. Benjen wiped his tears with embarrassment, but Lady Stark only smiled at him with tenderness. Although Luwin felt much fondness at the scene, they couldn't dwell on it. There was, so much to make sense about. “My Lady,” He asked, standing up and walking towards her, “I, I apologize for not believing you back then,” Luwin felt shame for not believing her back then, but there was nothing to be done about it. But she nodded, not a hint of reproach on her face.

 

But this was not about asking for forgiveness. If her dreams had indeed started to come to pass, the thought itself threatened to end him. “You said you saw many things, horrible things. Do you believe we can change them?”

 

“We have to, why else would the gods have shown them to me?” She said with conviction, and perhaps sorrow, “Even if some of them are unavoidable,” She and Lord Stark shared a knowing, pained look, “There is still so much I have yet to make sense, so much of what I saw is metaphor, confusing and unreadable,” He voice became colder, “The only thing clear as day is death,”

 

“Cat,” Lord Stark called to her, but she shook her head. “My sweet Ned, I have to speak of it. As horrible as it is, knowing of it is the only way we can hope to avoid them.” Only then Luwin understood his Lord and Lady debated whether to spare them of that pain.

 

“Tell us, Catelyn,” Benjen said calmly, “We can endure what you have. It's the least we can do.” Lady Stark let out a sigh, and walked towards the window. She reached for the glass, or perhaps her faint reflection on it, “As I saw a dead wolf give birth to a litter of six, I saw the stag that killed her. In my dreams it was golden, truly a lion dressed like a stag. A mummer's farce. Joffrey Baratheon might be Robert's son, but he is all lion. I can still see his cruel petulant smile from my own lord husband's eyes.” She caught Lord Stark's eyes through the reflection, her tears glimmering even so, “My poor Sansa, shrieking in horror, watching.”

 

“Ned,” Benjen called, sorrow in his eyes, but Lord Stark just shook his head. He already had heard this. Then Lady Stark's reflected gaze looked for Benjen, and Master Luwin felt a vice on his chest, “Jon can't take the black,” She said with an ominous tone, and Benjen drew in a sharp breath. “Tell me,” he demanded. She let out a sigh, and spoke.

 

“Jon; Lord Commander Snow. He was always meant for greatness. Still he poured his blood to the snow, betrayal piercing his heart. Ghost howling at the distance.” Maybe Benjen shouldn't have asked. Luwin saw him shiver, and it looked too much like the scared boy he had once been. “That will never happen,” Benjen swore nonetheless, filled with determination.

 

“We can't trust the Freys or the Boltons, never. I can always hear Walder Frey's laughs as Roose Bolton pierces my Robb's heart,” She said full of hate, finally turning back, her eyes falling on Ned. She touched her neck, and Lord Stark's eyes opened wide. “Cat, you-”

 

“I die by our son's side, Ned.” Lord Stark shook his head at this, “You didn't mention that,” He said, and he sounded scared.

 

“If I could I would have spared you from all of it, my sweet Ned. I would have spared your from knowing Robb's death if you hadn't been by my side that night,” She said with a sigh, “But now we must all know.”

 

“What, what about me?” Benjen asked. Lady Stark let out a sigh of exhaustion, “Winter is Coming Benjen, and-” She let out a sigh, “And perhaps there's a greater plan for these visions. There are things beyond the wall, things with bright blue eyes and cold hands. So many, too many. You see them with your own eyes before-” She fell silent.

 

“The deserter did not lie,” Benjen quickly shook his head, “The wildling raids, the deserters. They are escaping.” He said mostly to himself. Maester Luwin let out a sigh. Once he would have rolled his eyes to tales of the others, but now. If Lady Stark had seen it, it was truth. _Jon Arryn is dead._

 

“Poisoned by a bad fish,” He said quietly, not quite realizing he had spoken out loud. Lady Stark's eyes fell on him, and she just nodded. Maester Luwin took a deep breath, he had to ask, “How, how do I die?”

 

She smiled, sadly, “By the heart tree. Something, bad, happens in Winterfell, and you fade away. You ask a woman I don't know to help you with mercy.” She walked to him, placing her hand on his shoulder, “You smile, because you see Bran and Rickon escape. Their direwolves are huge.” Tears formed again on her eyes, but her smile didn't fade. Luwin smiled back. At least that sounded like a kind death.

 

Still, all that death talk has left them all exhausted, Luwin wanted to rest, but he didn't thought he could sleep. “Did, did the gods gave you any sight that wasn't so, morbid?” Benjen asked with a big sigh, breaking the silence. Lady Stark blinked, her eyes looking up somewhere beyond.

 

“Many things,” She said with a smile, “Many things that don't make sense, but many so wonderful that I can't help but feel hope,” He tone became fervent, her eyes wide, “I saw dragons rising from a death pyre in the east, a white haired girl was their mother. I saw Robb ride a giant wolf, an army behind his back calling him the King in the North. I saw Jon, bright as a star, Valyrian steel shattering hordes of monsters.” She turned around, her eyes falling on Lord Stark, “Arya dances, and she dances so prettily, so deadly. I should be scared, but her needlework is excellent.” She touched her face, a proud sigh escaping her lips, “I saw Sansa look at the most beautiful flower in the garden with pure joy, even when she wraps herself with black from head to toe. And Bran, he flies, and he sees everything.” Her words died out, and for a second she looked almost dreamily.

 

“I heard a song, and it was cold and dead, and searing and alive at the same time, and it was the most beautiful thing I have ever heard,” She finally said, her eyes closing slowly. Master Luwin gulped, his eyes suddenly wide and dry. But he said nothing of it. The day had been a lot as it was. “The gods are kind,” She repeated, “They have shown me all of this because I begged them to let me love Jon, and they did. I, I know they want the song to be played right,” She said with something closer to faith than certainty. To Luwin those could be the same, “All the death I have seen, that's, that's a colder song. This reprise, it can be different.”

 

She looked outside, her eyes looking for something far away. Benjen and Lord Stark looked at each other, not understanding. Luwin did, the song was real.

 

Raeghar had wrote its name on his letter. It had meant little in high Valyrian. Back then it had been the ravings of a madman justifying what he had done but now, the words had meaning. Ice and Fire. Lyanna's escape, her secret marriage to Raeghar Targaryen, the child she birthed, Jon. It was all for Raeghar's ancient song of ice and fire.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a bit longer than a week, but I'm back at my place! The final chapter should definitely come more quickly. But at least this chapter had a lot of revelations to tide you over ha!
> 
> So a lot happened, and while the plot twist has obvious ramifications, for this story, it just informs why some characters have acted differently. If I do end up writing more in this 'verse it should become more important. How it specifically affects Jon and Robb's relationship is what we'll see next chapter.
> 
> Also this was so close from just becoming shameless smut, so close. 
> 
> Thank you again for all the lovely comments and kudos, I love to know you guys are appreciating this story, and I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint.


	5. Five: Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So remember when I said this chapter was running long? Well, it did, and I even ended adding another PoV; Jon and Robb won't be the only ones with multiple chapters by the end of this.
> 
> So this is "Five: Part One" and even cut in less than half is like 6k ha! The next few days seem a little busy, but hopefully I finally will have time to finish soon! 
> 
> In the meantime, enjoy this chapter, and thank you for everyone that has left a kudos and a comment, it really means a lot!

**Jon**

 

Jon run his finger down the side of Robb' chest, following the lines his muscles made. His skin was smoother on the side, unlike his hair covered chest. The hearth, almost consumed, still flickered sunset shadows over Robb's pale skin. Jon wondered if he could count all the freckles on his chest before the fire died out. He moved his finger up, tracing the collarbone from the shoulder to the base of Robb's throat. Then his finger moved lower, following the path between Robb's pecs. He didn't get any lower, as his hand was held down to Robb's chest by a soft touch.

 

“I like it there,” Robb run circles on the back of Jon's hand with his thumb, and Jon nuzzled himself closer, seeking Robb's warmth. The hearth continued to crackle lazily, and Jon wished he could fall sleep like this. Every day. Yet he wasn't sure if he could even fall sleep today, “Do you want to talk?” Robb asked quietly, maybe as scared as Jon felt. He held Robb tighter, trying to find security. Whatever this was, sometimes it was so similar to when they were children. Jon really didn't want to talk. After his father and Lord and Lady Stark, and Maester Luwin left the tower, he and Robb remained in silence for what felt like hours to Jon.

 

Everything was still an insurmountable heap in his mind, yet two things seared brighter on his brain. Benjen Stark wasn't his father, instead Lyanna Stark and Raeghar Targaryen were. It had been Robb the one that had said that out loud on the darkness. Jon had remained in silence, forgetting completely about the cold on his bare skin. Maybe he was blood of the dragon, although he couldn't say he felt any different. He was as much Stark as he had been when he woke up. He was just less Benjen, more Lyanna. He didn't know how that mattered, or if it did.

 

After that, they had dressed in silence, both worried by the visions of death Lady Stark had conjured forth. Somehow it seemed fitting that both Robb and him were stabbed to death. Dread rung hollow inside of him then in the library tower, and they left, not really knowing where to go. Without words, Robb had held him by the hand, and they walked without rush. The night was quiet, the moon hiding beneath a cloud, Robb's hand on his the only thing staving the darkness away. Robb lead them to Jon's room, who had given him a quizzical look, and Robb gave him a small smile in return “I've always liked your room's better.” They went inside, and Jon had quickly barred the door. They looked at each other, and the want and lust they had felt earlier just wasn't there, understandably. Robb closed the distance, and kissed him tenderly, the summerwine on his breath tasting of honey and fruit. Jon let go a small sob, but Robb kissed it away. Then they undressed, and got on the bed together, not unlike they had done for what seemed ages ago hiding from grumkins and snarks; but now felt entirely different. They kissed each other breathless, without much heat, but still hungering for each other. Jon had learned he very much liked to run his fingers through Robb's body.

 

Robb's heartbeat was steady, reassuring under his palm. He didn't know how much time had passed between Robb's question and his answer, “It's fucking mad, isn't it?” Jon said, his eyes wide, yet looking nowhere. He moved his head closer, making himself comfortable on Robb's shoulder. “The maddest thing I have ever heard. For a moment I hoped mother _had_ been mad,” Robb frowned, but he continued to caress circles with his right hand on Jon's back. “Your father, he knew Ghost should be there, he looked for him. He knew.” Jon said barely loud for Robb to hear then he breathed in heavily, the scent of Robb's musk clinging to his nose. He didn't want to leave this room, knowing the future ahead would only bring their death. He burrowed himself further in the warmth besides him. Tears rolled down his eyes even when he willed them not to. It felt like a sick joke, as if the price he had paid for Robb's love had been a prophecy of their violent deaths.

 

“Hey, hey,” Robb called at him softly, and carefully made him look up, their eyes meeting. The light of the hearth did not reach his eyes, yet to Jon they were as clear as the sky. Their lips touched gently, without hurry. They had this night, and nothing would take that away. Jon let go a tired little laugh, and could see Robb's eyes looking worried for a bit. “I was just thinking, we should have been doing this before. For longer.” Jon let his left hand move downward Robb's chest, under his stomach, finding the coarse curls down there. Robb let go a little excited whimper, and Jon couldn't help himself from smiling. He looked up and he could see the red of Robb's hair even if the fires were almost out, “Kissed by fire,” he said to himself, then gave Robb another peck.

 

“Should I start calling you my dragon?” Robb asked playfully, but there was concern on his face, Jon considered this, he didn't really had much of an answer, “They say dragons go mad. I'd rather be a wolf. I'd rather protect what's mine,” Jon really didn't want to think about what it mean to have Targaryen blood in him, that his father had been Raeghar Targaryen. It seemed impossible to him. He didn't want to think how his mother had conceived him. That was too much of a darker thought. He'd rather not think he had the blood of the dragon, it would be better if he never spoke of it again. It would be safer. Yet he thought of dragons flying somewhere else, a white haired girl amidst them, “I'm not the only Targaryen left. People say there are two of them in Essos. I don't need to worry about dragons,” He said, but for a moment the thought of each dragon belonging to one of them was present. Jon pushed it away, perhaps he wasn't the only Targaryen bastard out there. Maybe there would have been more. Jon wondered how many of them had had white hair and purple eyes, had any of them made it past sucking babes? Jon was grateful of his Stark features, it would have been hard to hide him with a white mop of hair, and amethyst eyes.

 

“How, how do you feel, knowing uncle Benjen, well...” Rob asked stiltedly, and Jon frowned, he really didn't think it changed anything, “He's still my father, he'll always be. He loves me like his own son,” Jon said fondly, his father's worried voice on the tower still breaking his heart. “Do, do you remember?” Robb asked, something in his face that Jon couldn't name, “You used to call my father, well, father,” Jon didn't remember that, and his face showed as much. “At least I remember it so. You called him father once, and mother had been nearby, and her face. I, I never had seen her so angry. I still remember that face. After that you didn't, and after that you started calling Uncle Benjen father. And you were happier. We were all happier.”

 

Jon didn't remember any of that, the only thing he remembered was loneliness, and only Robb by his side. “She hated me,” Jon said flatly. Knowing that Lady Stark had hated him for a while had been rough, hearing her say she'd die for him now perhaps hurt more. He'd never wanted her to die for him, for anyone. “She doesn't, not anymore. You heard that,” Robb said with conviction.

 

“I know. She was clear on that,” Jon said with a bit of apprehension. He still felt overwhelmed by how she spoke of the gods letting her love him. As If it had been the greatest gift. He guessed, knew, absolution could feel like that. Although Jon didn't think only truth would have made her love him. For all he knew, that hate could have become fear, of the danger his parentage would have brought her family. All he knew was that he has glad, and that his aunt did love him. Perhaps seeing her flaws made her more human to his eyes, not just the perfect Lady of Winterfell. “I don't want to resent her for what she might had felt once, she has been kind to me. My memory says so.”

 

Robb smiled, “See? She could have hated you, but she doesn't,” Robb said with a smile, and to Jon that wasn't that much of an uplifting thought, “If she hadn't saw things, she would still hate you; but she doesn't. She already has changed what happened.”

 

“I don't think not hating a bastard changes much, on the larger scheme of things...” Jon said without trying to sound so dismissive. “It does. For one, you don't have a reason to join the Night's Watch,” Robb pointed out simply, and Jon couldn't deny that. How could he leave Robb now? Perhaps if Lady Stark had been hateful, Jon and Robb wouldn't have been as close? It wasn't hard to think Winterfell wouldn't seem a place he wanted to stay if so. “Maybe I'm meant to join the Night's Watch,” Jon offered weakly.

 

“You are meant to be by my side. You said it Jon, I belong to you,” Robb said fervently, and Jon felt his face heat by the memory of that moment. But reality, and the future, were harsher than that, no matter what Jon wanted “We have this Robb,” Jon said, his hand feeling the warmth of Robb's lower belly, “Maybe this will be all we have. If war is coming, if you are to become King on the North, you'll have to marry. We wouldn't dishonor your wife. I know you as you know me.”

 

“For that father would have to die, and we are not letting that happen. If, if that happens, then I will be King of the North,” Robb said with gravity, “And my gods tell me I can love you as I wish. I'll make Bran, or Rickon my heir. I don't need to marry,” Jon wanted to smile that those words, but they seemed so naive. He didn't want to fight over that. They had wasted too much time already.

 

“We'll probably die before you have to marry,” Jon said bleakly, and Robb punched him in the arm. “We are not gonna die, Jon,” He wished he could believe the sincerity on Robb's eyes, and he did, at least for the night. Jon didn't want to think about the future and prophecy. For all they knew nothing of that would happen, maybe Lady Stark dreamed of things that wouldn't come to pass. Jon could lie to himself a little longer. What he knew what was he felt, and that was Robb's warmth, and his lips. They kissed lazily, and Jon smiled.

 

“Something fun?” Robb asked with a smirk, and Jon blushed, “I've only kissed redheads,” the thought appeared unprompted on his mind. “Sansa” Robb asked, a hint of jealousy on his tone that Jon couldn't help find funny, “And Ros,” Jon supplied.

 

“She didn't tell me that. Well, I kissed her too, so that doesn't bother me” Robb said, but Jon could see it bothered him a little. “Does it bother you that I kissed Rodrik?” Robb asked, and there was genuine concern on his voice, “I only kissed him,”

 

“He was handsome,” Jon admitted, not too glad, but he really didn't want to talk about Rodrik and his neat beard, “I also kissed Jeyne once,” Robb frowned, as if his memory was cloudy. “No you didn't,” Jon said, and Robb looked at him ready to explain, but Jon couldn't hide his mischievous smile. “Your eyes were closed, and she wouldn't dare,” Even if Jon always thought if it as something innocent, the memory now made his face feel hot, “She run away after,” Robb said dumbly. “She run away before, and you were awaiting for a kiss to be waken up from your slumber, as Sansa had ordered you,”

 

“She wouldn't let me even open my eyes. She swatted at me when I tried. I didn't even open them when she left to find you,” Robb replied, a gleam on his eye. Jon couldn't hold that gaze thought, suddenly admitting to what he had done embarrassed him, and it felt stupid after Robb had sucked him off and made him see stars, “She didn't find me. I was hiding behind the big birch tree,” Robb lowered himself into the mattress, leaning on his side, his eyes looking for Jon's, “I knew there was a reason why I remembered that kiss,” He said dreamily, “I, I like Jeyne, but sometimes it's hard to remember she is, well, there,” Jon made a non-commital sound. Jeyne had always been smitten by Robb, and Jon didn't care much for her, maybe those two things were because of the same reason. He didn't think Jeyne minded, she was happy to just be Sansa's friend for all he knew. Robb kissed him again, and it was longer, and more heated. His body seemed to think so.

 

“It was always going to end like this,” Robb said, eyes heavy lidded and voice low. Jon agreed, perhaps if he hadn't felt so -less, he would have said something sooner, he would have realized of Robb's feelings sooner. It all seemed so silly, still unavoidable perhaps. They would have realized it sooner or later, what they really meant for each other, he hoped. They hadn't, though. “Theon told me” Jon suddenly remembered, and Robb's surprise seemed to be the same he felt on his face. “He told me you, you loved me,”

 

“Oh” Robb said, eyes wide, “I guess I have to thank him, and ask him how he knew?” Robb frowned, his mind racing behind his eyes, “I'm too tired to think about that now,” he shook his head, closing his eyes. Yet his right hand didn't seem tired as he rubbed circles on Jon's hip.

 

The night still felt like a dream, and maybe the morrow will make the dread sharper, but Jon didn't care, not this night. For now it was a good dream, one that had came true. One he wouldn't waste. He was quick, he was always quicker than Robb. Robb stared with wide eyes as Jon straddled him, sitting on his bare thighs. He leaned forward, drinking in Robb's disheveled expression, his parted lips, his wild eyes. He felt him buck up under him, and Jon couldn't help the low growl forming on his throat. He reached for Robb's arms, holding him by the wrists, pining them above his head, making him pant with desire.

 

Tomorrow would come, there wasn't anything to do about that; just stay there until it came.

 

**Theon**

 

There was no one on the dining hall yet, so Theon grabbed the jug of water and drank the whole thing like if he had been lost in the deserts of Dorne. He was so fucking thirsty. Last night had been a good night. Good food, good drink, a lot of drink. And lady Stark hadn't as much as glanced at him. He looked outside through the high window, it wasn't very late, but Lord and Lady Stark would have already eaten, they were early birds. “Hey, bring me whatever hearty there's on the kitchens. And ale,” Theon ordered the serving boy at the corner, and he scampered off, quick of feet. “And get yourself a fruit cake or something!” Theon shouted, leaning back on his chair.

 

He looked at his side, to Robb's usual place, and he didn't thought he had an early night. He was sure he hadn't slept in his own quarters. He checked them out early, and was glad to realize Robb and Snow hadn't been complete idiots. Perhaps now they would stop with the the fucking pup eyes, he hated them so much. He smiled, drinking the last bit of water on the jug.

 

He heard quick feet coming from the hallway door, and the Stark children came rushing in, Septa Mordane's clothes hilariously dishelved, and he laughed without shame. She gave him a hateful look. He laughed again. It was not surprising to see Bran and Arya, and baby Rickon, covered in hay, they had been obviously looking after their little pups. It was more surprising to see Sansa just as messed up as them, and with a smile on her face. Yet when she saw him, she quickly blushed, trying to make herself presentable. He just rolled his eyes, looking back to the table. The children sat around it quickly, and Arya dove to the breadbasket, putting a whole piece on her mouth. Sansa gave her a reproaching look, but Arya didn't even pay attention. Sansa always was so stuck up, he might find her pretty if she had more fire in her. She was a wolf still, so to him it seemed more of an act. Arya was all wolf, and Theon liked that, although he didn't see her becoming a beauty like Lyanna Stark, whom everyone said she was the living image off. Bran seemed to be of a more tender face, still a babe to Theon's eyes, with his stories and tales. Theon had to admit he was a very smart kid. And Rickon was Rickon, in all his blankness that all babes seemed to have to him. He laughed a lot, Theon guessed. There wasn't much he could say.

 

Well, it didn't matter what he thought of the Starks, they didn't seem to care much for him.

 

“Robb's not here?” Arya managed to ask through a mouthful of bread. The serving boy came with his plate, a fruit tart on his mouth. Theon was tempted just to start eating, but Arya had never been particularly nasty to him, “He had too much to drink, he slept it off in Jon's quarters,” He lied nonchalantly, and licked his lips bringing the soup to his lips. Lamb broth. Delicious.

 

“Oh, that's nice,” Sansa said vapidly, “They haven't done a sleepover on a while,” He looked at her, and she seemed to blush slightly, but everything made her pale skin blush. “I thought Jon was on the walls today?” Bran asked, also grabbing a piece of bread, and Arya nodded.

 

“I don't know where Snow is” Theon shrugged, he knew exactly Snow was, balls deep for all he knew. Sansa stared nowhere, lost in thought. She was fifteen years old, and Theon wondered when was the age girls started having dirty thoughts, “For all I know, he's sleeping with Robb,” Theon smiled slyly, only in a way Sansa could catch. He wanted to laugh when he saw her turn red as her hair. She quickly looked away as the servant boy returned with a tray with healthy and flavorless oatmeal and some fruit for the children. Bran sighed as he started eating, but Arya seemed to be telling herself a joke, her smile wide as she played with the gruel on her bowl. Their eyes crossed for a moment, and it was like they both knew something the rest didn't.

 

He should be careful around the little she-wolf, she was observant. “Don't go bothering Robb,” he said casually, but his eyes remained on Arya as he spoke, “Let him sleep his drunkenness off,”

 

“But we named the pups! We need to tell him,” Arya whined. Septa Mordane let out a sigh, her chest becoming splattered with oatmeal, Rickon staring at her with innocence. He liked Rickon. “You did?” Theon asked as he continued to eat, trying not to show the small pang of envy he felt. He really didn't want one of those little beasts, they would die quickly, most likely. But he didn't need reminders that he was not a Stark, just an outcast. Even Snow had a pup. “Mine's Nymeria!” Arya said with excitement, “like the warrior queen! Sansa named hers Lady,” she said with contempt, but Sansa just beamed with happiness, “And Rickon's is Shaggydog.” Arya shook his head on distaste, “That's not a good name for a direwolf,”

 

“Well, it's his,” Theon said, and Rickon started giggling, repeating the name of his pup. He seemed a little dumb to Theon, but he really didn't knew much about babes. Still he made Theon smile. “And yours?” He looked at Bran, and the small boy pressed a thin line with his lips, “I still don't know, no name seems right,” He said staring at the distance, and for some reason Theon was transfixed by that. He shook his head, returning to his plate, finishing to scoop up the last of the broth with a piece of bread. “Well, enjoy your gruel children! And don't go bothering Robb.” He stood up, ready to walk outside, but Sansa gave him a barely perceptible sneer.

 

“He's our brother, you don't have to tell us,” She said without really looking at him, a proud pout in her lips. Theon stared at her, and she cowed. He could rip her apart if he wanted, he could make her cry. The only thing Theon and Sansa had in common, was that Robb had always been their favorite, “Well, he's my brother too,” He said shrugging, and walked away.

 

The morning outside was cold, almost like needles prickling on his skin. He brought his hands to his mouth, breathing into them before putting in his warm gloves. People still looked at him with disdain when he covered his hands from the cold, as if it was a shame. People looked at him with disdain most of the time, making sure he was always aware why he was in Winterfell. He wasn't a ward, he was a hostage. Theon walked to the stables, and spared on look to the little beasts. They creeped him out, even when they looked rather innocent in their sleep, sated by the milk the Stark children had given them. Robb had said he wanted to take his to his rooms soon, so at least the little monsters wouldn't stay out here for long. He shook his head and went to fetch his horse. He saddled his stallion up with practiced ease and he was ready to go.

 

“Again to the whorehouse?” A guard whose name he hadn't bothered to learn asked, an air of superiority on his pock ridden face. Even he felt he could get a laugh at Theon. “They like me there!” Theon beamed, “You could spend all your pay there, maybe then they'll pretend to like you half as they like me with one coin.” Theon smiled his sly smile, the one he knew people hated, and rode outside the castle. People would always look down to him, but he had realized that he didn't care. He was no Stark, and he didn't think he was Ironborn anymore. All he knew is he was himself, and his family was here; not the Starks, but Robb; he would always be his little brother, and he would always take care of him.

 

Once he had been jealous of what Robb and Jon had, their bond, Was not Theon good enough to be his brother like a bastard was? The thought of being snubbed over a bastard had hurt, had filled him with bitterness and other bad, bad thoughts. He had became almost too wrapped in in his own head that he had almost failed to see Robb becoming less and less the brimming and energetic youth he had always been. When he realized he had been avoiding Snow, he thought the bastard must have done him harm. “He hasn't done anything. It's not his fault, Theon,” While Robb avoided Jon, and Theon noticed that, he tried to keep his spirits up with the rest of his family. But Robb never lied to him like that, he might had not said anything to Theon, but he never hid his sorrow away from him.

 

Theon was the only person Robb was real with. He didn't care Theon saw the weakness and exhaustion in him, he trusted him, and he never had to say it. He was his brother, more than whatever Snow was to Robb. Theon didn't know what to do besides not let Robb completely wallow on his misery. That worked for a while, but it wasn't a solution. He couldn't help Robb, not really, not unless he knew what was going on, but Robb had fallen even further down whatever his malaise was, giving all his smiles to Jon and then retreating like a hollow thrunk. “I'm okay,” Had became Robb's rehearsed bullshit answer. That wouldn't do.

 

“He's in love with someone, Theon” Ros had finally gave in after he pestered her until she almost hit him. As the professional she was, she had said nothing further. She didn't confirm or deny if Robb had actually got his cock wet, but he knew he hadn't “I can smell it,” He had said, and she had thrown a pillow on his face, “You are disgusting,” but she had smiled. Ros had thought herself coy, saying enough to make Theon stop asking her. He had made show to wreck his head thinking who could it be, but she definitely said no more. That had been okay, Theon already had the answer on his head. He had said his goobyes after fucking her senseless, still pretending he didn't know.

 

Robb didn't have eyes for any woman, not even for Elisa and her huge tits. Theon would have noticed, he would have taunted Robb mercilessly. He would have noticed, as he had noticed how he spent almost over a year avoiding Snow, and how now he gave him fake smiles and hollowed himself out for him. Just to make Snow happy. He was in fucking love with Jon Snow.

 

It made all the sense of the world the moment the thought formed on his mind. Because it was always about Snow, and the jealousy Theon once felt, only turned into sympathy. He did not want to see his brother suffer of heartsickness, or of anything else. Theon didn't care for Snow a whole lot, but he realized whatever was between him and Robb was important. But Snow had always been kinda daft, he really knew nothing. So Theon had to spell it out for him. At least finally that would put an end to that whole suffering thing, he thought. And he seemed to have been right.

 

None of Robb's blood siblings had helped him like that. He allowed himself that prideful thought. It was not like he could boast to anyone. Well, only Ros; that was the reason why he was indeed going to the whorehouse. That, and the sweet morning fucking.

 

He stepped into the brothel, a spring on his steep. Ros was available, and he jogged his way up the rickety stairs. “Come in” Her voice said as he knocked the door. He entered, and she was truly a vision of beauty under the cold morning light. She patted dust on her face, and gave him a quick smile, that he knew sad, “Isn't a bit early to get caked in powder?” He tried to joke, but the humor died when he noticed the purple on her cheekbone, “Who did that, I'll kill him,” He would.

 

But she laughed. A sad, resigned laugh, “If it isn't my gallant salt knight! My Theon, you truly make me swoon,” She mimed with her hands, a flowy sigh leaving her red lips. He frowned, “Don't pretend with me,” He sounded sad, he was sad. Her eyes fell, the powder sponge now discarded on her nightstand. “I'm a whore Theon, it's my job to pretend,” She didn't look at him.

 

“Well not with me,” He retorted, and he knew she couldn't deny that. They had fun together, they made each other cum, they made each other smile, “You don't have to be a whore anymore.” She stood up, a line of anger on her otherwise lovely face, “You are not the first man who wanted to save me,” She said bitterly, her grey- blue eyes full of resentment. But he knew it wasn't towards him. “I don't want to save you,” He shook his head, the lie hiding the truth that he really thought she could do something else with her life, “I, you know you can leave this life behind if you want. Lady Stark offered you a place in Winterfell, I haven't forgotten.”

 

“I shouldn't have told you that,” She looked away, and hugged herself, “You are a fool to believe I'd had a better life there, working for a dime and shrivel like a septa, I want more of life than that. Than this. And I will get it” There was a hint of pride in her voice, and she sounded so much like him, “You would get hit far less in Winterfell,” He wanted to reach for her face, but it didn't seem appropriate, “Possibly not at all.”

 

“I could, I could mount a turnip cart, and leave for White Harbour, maybe reach King's Landing before winter,” She said in a flight, running over her words, “You are pretty enough to make a pretty coin down there, but how long you think you'll last?” She scowled at him, and Theon hated that for some reason his voice sounded weak, “At least in Winterfell you will never go hungry, and there's a whole tower of books you can read” Her face then softened, Theon wasn't sure why, “You really care about me, don't you?” She asked. Only then he felt the pained scowl on his own face. He looked away embarrassed, they weren't talking about him. “I do,” He could at least say that, he knew how much lying festered inside people. She sighed, and walked to the feet of her bed, opening the battered chest by it. She grabbed an old and torn book he  wasn't sure he had seen, maybe he had seen it lying around. The cover had once been supple leather dyed of cerulean, silver words etched on it.

 

“Do, do you think the Maester of Winterfell would help my reading get better?” She asked, and she suddenly sounded far too young. Theon realized he didn't know how old she actually was. Sometimes he could see lines on the corner of her eyes, her beauty would fade soon, specially with this life. “Why do you need him? I will teach you.” She smiled the brightest smile he had seen of her, and she had never looked so beautiful before. “Okay, let's find a rucksack and throw in everything we can carry, I'm not coming back to this shithole once we leave.”

 

The rucksack had been lighter than Theon had expected, but Ros just had shrugged. She took a deep breath, and walked down the stairs, Theon following with the sack containing all her worldly possessions. “Hey!” a voice called from behind a table that served as some sort of counter for the owner of the brothel, “Where do you think you are going?”

 

“I'm leaving. The room is already empty, and paid for the month,” If the greasy man behind the counter wanted to say something, the little flash of steel Theon let show from his hip stopped him. The greasy man said nothing, and Ros just kept walking, until they were outside, breathing in the cold chill. Theon lifted her up to his horse, and he enjoyed the blush in her face. They rode slowly, and Theon felt strangely, proud. Whatever this caring for other people thing that was happening on his head, it made him feel good about himself.

 

“I never told you I was learning how to read,” She whispered on his ear as they rode through Winter Town, her arms holding him perhaps a little tighter, “I notice things. You love words, you keep them by your breast.” He was glad he wasn't looking at her, she would have seen the heat on his face. The rest of the ride was quiet, the town gentle background noise.

 

They entered Winterfell, the pock ridden guard gave him a envious sneer, and Ros blew a kiss at him. Ros looked around the place, even if it wasn't been the first time she had been in the castle. Theon still remembered that time they had fucked on the sept, Septa Mordane deaf in her devotions to the seven.

 

He rode them to the stable, and before they dismounted, he saw Robb and Snow sneaking away to the godswood. She smiled for a fraction of a moment, but pretended not to notice. He looked back, their lips almost meeting over his shoulder, “It seems the tender love of our lordling has been reciprocated, how sweet,” He whispered with a smirk and she smiled back at him, the realization he knew dawning on her, “The question is who sheats his sword on whom.”

 

There was a pause, perhaps surprise in her part, before she responded, “I wouldn't mind watching either way,” Her breath was thick and hot on his cheeck, “Do you like that sort of thing?,” Theon asked, a flutter his chest. “You certainly seemed to like when me and Ella shared you,” She replied, her lips moist under her tongue, “Would you ever repay the favor?”

 

He let out a little laugh, “For what I remember, that favor cost me a lot of coin,” He dismounted in one jump, and helped her down. He purposefully drew her body close to him, until her feet touched the ground and their eyes met, “But who knows, we could make a friend, and play with him,” Ros bit her lip, certainly giving appreciative thought to the idea. Theon thought it wouldn't be a bad thing to do.

 

He took a deep breath, ordering his cock to settle.

 

“So, are you Ros, from Winter Town?” Both he and Ros quickly turned to the voice, it was master Luwin, and he seemed to be on a rush. “Yes, milord?” Ros asked with a smile, although not without doubt, and curtsied to the old man, “None of that, child. I am but a Maester, you can call me that. Lady Stark had left orders to let me know if a redheaded girl by the name Ros came to the castle” Theon gave the old man an untrusting glare, “Why would Lady Stark send you, Maester?”

 

“Don't give me that look young Greyjoy” The Maester said with a roll of the eyes, “I'm far too old to even think about that sort of thing.”

 

“Walder Frey is older than you, and he's still siring more squealing Freys,” Theon crossed his arms, but the maester just waved him off, and signaled Ros to follow him, and Theon did so too “Our young Theon is not slow of mind, but neither is he of mouth,” The maester teased, and Ros laughed, just giving Theon a small shrug. “Lady Stark tells me you read, yes?”

 

“A little, my lord, I-” Ros sounded uncharacteristically shy, “I want to learn better. I want to finish the book I have been reading.”

 

“That's quite commendable my girl. Tell me the name of that book,” The maester asked, their walk slow, following the pace of the maester, “The Ice Dragon, maester.” The Maester turned around, his eyebrows high in surprise, “A lovely book, I read it once, many years ago. Funny to hear that name now,”

 

“You could borrow mine if you wish to read it maester,” Ros said, hopeful.

 

“I'd really like that girl, you are kind. Although we should start with shorter tales. We will be having lessons early each morning, we can schedule them around our duties, and you will do your reading at night for the next day,” Ros nodded, although she seemed a bit lost, maybe as much as Theon felt. “Here we are” The maester said with a tired sigh, “There is a lot of work to do; I have been informed I haven't been keeping good care of the place. Obviously I can't be expected to do so, by myself.” The maester said with a hint of wounded pride.

 

“You never let people in, Maester,” Theon said with a smile, realizing what would be Ros's job. She would love it. “Well, I need something with respect for words. They are not just scribbles on parchment, you know. So I'm glad to have Ros now to help me take care of the place. Do you respect words, Ros?”

 

“I love them,” Ros said, and she smiled brightly. Theon realized there were many smiles from her he was yet to see.

 


	6. Five: Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahoy! I'm sorry this update took so long! Septermber is a really busy month for me and I should have really taken note about that! I hope you all enjoy this final chapter, although this is not the end of this setting (hopefully)!
> 
> So yeah, even if if I split this in two and made the previous chapter 6k word long, this one is still 13k, so that's a lot of words for your waiting at least!
> 
> So please, enjoy, and let me know what you think! And thank you again for your support. :D

**Bran**

 

The pup slobbered into his palm, and the only thing he could do was smile. “Gross!” Sansa yelped, but her own smile was wide as Lady nibbled on her fingers. Even as two day old pups, their nibbling was voracious. And very adorable.

 

“Sit!” Arya ordered her pup, Nymeria, like the Rhoynar Queen of his books, but the direwolf just kept rolling on the floor, pawing at a mote of dust for all he knew, “They are too little Arya. You can't teach them tricks yet.”

 

“But Harwin says that direwolves are supposed to grow up fast!” Arya challenged, yet Sansa just rolled her eyes, “Well, maybe two days is still a bit early to be teaching them, don't you think?” She quirked her eyebrow, a bit smugly, and Arya sulked in defeat. Bran couldn't understand why they just didn't get along. Everything was a fight between the two of them. He knew they were very different from each other, one being all Stark and the other all Tully. Father and Mother got along just fine, why couldn't Arya and Sansa?

 

Maybe it was a girl thing that Bran could just never fathom. His pup nibbled at his fingers, and he was surprised how strong the bite was. Maybe he should soon have to be more careful.

 

They continued playing with the pups now settled in Robb's room. It had been hard to find him after breakfast, even when Theon had told them not to bother Robb, they had attempted to wait for him outside Jon's quarters, but they soon realized no one was there. It wasn't until almost an hour later that he appeared with Jon on the dining hall. They seemed to be on a hurry as Bran and his sisters barely managed to catch them before they left. They had been pretty dismissive, as if they just wanted to get away, Bran couldn't understand how they weren't more excited about the pups. While Arya didn't seem to be bothered by this, in fact she smiled, Sansa got very quiet. Bran asked for permission to move the pups to Robb's room for a while before separating them, and he had agreed quickly. Then he and Jon had excused themselves, and left the dining room carrying sweetmeats and fruits.

 

“Where are you two going?” Sansa had asked. They looked at each other, and Robb let his mouth hang open before answering, “Just gonna enjoy the day outside, it's a nice day,” They nodded at each other, and said their quick goodbyes with tight smiles. Sansa glowered at them for some reason, but Arya just smiled happily.

 

Bran looked outside as the pup nibbled his fingers, but the day didn't seem particularly nice at all. While Arya seemed happy now to play with Nymeria, Ghost and Robb' pup, Sansa seemed to be lost in her head now, lazily dangling a blue ribbon over Lady, her eyes somewhere else. She had been acting strangely since they talked to Jon and Robb at the dining hall. As they moved the pups to Robb's quarters, she had remained quiet, not sad,, but like she was thinking. Bran loved his sister, but he didn't remembered ever seen her so lost in thought before.

 

“How are the pups doing?” Mother's voice came from behind them, and Bran quickly turned around to meet her with a smile. She smiled back, even when she seemed a little sad to Bran, as she had for the last couple of days. But now she smiled still, and primly knelt down besides him and gave his pup an praising look. “They are so big,” She said in wonder, but not surprise. Bran didn't thought she had seen the pups yet, but he noticed how unfazed she was by them.

 

“We named them mother!” Arya beamed holding Nymeria in her hands and presenting her, “She's Nymeria!” She said proudly, “And Sansa's is named Lady,” she said almost rolling her eyes. “Jon named his Ghost, and Rickon named his Shaggydog,” To that she shrugged, her eyes falling on Rickon's pup, sleeping placidly close to Bran's own pup. Mother smiled, her eyes crinkling, but looking too bright. “Lovely names, you have named them well.”

 

“I have yet to name mine,” Bran admitted perhaps a bit embarrassed, Rob neither had named his yet, but he didn't seem as worried about it. Yet they needed a name, the right name. Not just a name that sounded right; Bran needed to _find_ his name. His mother's hand came to his face, tenderly. “You will name him well too, Bran. I know.” She said evenly. The certainty of her words made something inside of Bran feel very small.

 

“Robb hasn't named his either,” Sansa said absentmindedly, still dangling the ribbon on top of Lady. There was a slight frown on her brow, a thought still stuck in her head. Mother's keen eyes soon accounted for that as well, Bran knew. “I haven't seen him today,” Mother said, her eyes resting on Robb's bed. “I hope you asked him for permission to bring the pups here, yes?”

 

They all nodded rapidly, but her eyes remained on the made bed. “Do you know if he ate something? I hate it when he runs around on an empty stomach,” She asked casually, softly petting Bran's pup with her index finger.

 

“He and Jon grabbed some sweetmeats from the kitchen a while ago.” Arya said, and mother nodded, her eyebrows raising as she did so. “I'm glad. Did they say where they were headed?” Mother continued patting his pup, her eyes now set on his little paws. Yet her tone sounded almost like questioning. “They said they were going to enjoy the day outside. They left really fast.” Bran answered, and for a moment mother's hand stilled, then continued to pet the direwolf.

 

“Hopefully they'll have fun,” Mother said, and although Bran could see her smile, there was a hint of something else in her voice. She shook her head, and then her smile was warmer, “Rickon should be ready from his bath.” She stood up and dusted of the length of her skirt, then spoke to all of them, “You can stay with the pups until lunch, but remember after that you have to meet with Master Luwin for your lessons.” She leveled a stare at them, making sure there was no opposition. Arya just sighed, and mother smiled at them with a quick nod, then said her goodbyes and left the room.

 

While Bran returned to play with the pups, Arya's eyes were now firmly planted on her sister, and Sansa just continued to look around distractedly.

 

“What is it with you today?” Arya finally asked, her brow knitted. Sansa looked at her, eyes hard for a moment. “You'll just laugh at me,” She shrugged dejectedly, and then continued to dangle the ribbon on top of Lady. Arya sighed, the air escaping loudly between her teeth, her eyes looking up. “I promise I won't,” She rolled her eyes, but she sounded honest enough. Sansa looked at her, then to Bran, a speck of doubt in her eyes. “I won't either!” He promised as he put his hand on his chest, trying to sound older, honorable. That made Sansa smile. She shook her head shyly, her cheeks growing red. “I guess I'm just being silly but, I was remembering when Jon and I were littler, and we played a lot of knights and princesses,” She admitted shyly. Bran remembered that a little, mostly that Jon sometimes hid from her.

 

“Urgh. You forced him to play, don't you mean?” Arya said crossing her arms, her stare judging, “You only wanted to play that because you wanted to marry him.” Bran expected Sansa to deny that, but she was suddenly quiet, only the sound of the ribbon through her fingers coming from her. “I did,” Sansa said simply, then shook her head, “It's silly, isn't it? Jon never thought of me like that.” Arya opened her mouth, but she ended just looking at Sansa in silence. Bran looked at her too; Sansa was usually so cheery and proper, it was strange to see her so -melancholic.

 

“Still, pretending Jon was a prince and I would be his princess, and we'd have a castle and we'd be happy together, It was a lovely make-believe.” She said breezily, yet she still blushed, here eyes dreamily looking somewhere else. Her face then sobered, and she let out a sigh, “But then one day Robb said we shouldn't keep playing that, because I was making Jon believe we would actually have to get married, and cousins couldn't marry. So I had to let him down easily.”

 

“But cousins can marry.” Bran answered with a frown. Although he felt the need to correct a factual error, he was still more concerned about Sansa wanting to marry Jon. He knew it wasn't a weird thing, right? Tywin Lannister had married his cousin Joanna, and no one had said a thing. But Jon felt closer, almost like a brother. Did that make it weirder?

 

“I know now,” Sansa said with a sigh, “I didn't know back then. But-” She blushed again, “I asked Septa Mordane if that was true, that if the seven did look down on that sort of thing, but she told me they didn't. I was so mad at Robb.” She shook her head almost with fondness, Lady nuzzling on her lap, the ribbon softly caressing over her fluffy coat guided by Sansa's hand. Bran just nodded, not really thinking it was that much of a big deal, but he realized Arya was looking at Sansa.

 

“So you still wanna marry Jon?” Arya asked with a frown.

 

“No!” Sansa replied quickly, her cheeks still reddening though. “I love him like a cousin. And even if I did wanted to,” She paused, “ Well, he's- you know.”

 

“What, a bastard? He's not good enough for you?” Arya's eyes turned to dark slits, her lips almost snarling. It was easy to believe his sister was a wolf and not a twelve year old girl. Sansa looked shocked for a second, and quickly shook her head. “I don't mean it like that!” She cried, her hands fumbling with the ribbon in her fingers. “Father and mother will offer my hand in marriage to a noble house, a good match that will benefit Winterfell and the North,” It was odd to see the usually romantic Sansa speak of her future solely on such a practical way, and that made Bran kind of sad. Sansa did not look really happy either. “Marrying Jon would not be such at all.”

 

“Oh” Arya replied, but her face still remained wary. “Then what has you thinking so hard?”

 

“I, I don't know. I just remembered it I guess,” She paused, “I'm just wondering why Robb did that, that's all,” Sansa shrugged, her eyes set on Arya. They stared at each other for a moment, and Bran felt a little like they were having a conversation without him.

 

“Maybe he was jealous and didn't want to share Jon with you,” Arya smiled, widely. A wolf's grin. Sansa quietly looked away, busing herself petting Lady, purposely avoiding Arya's gaze. “They have always been best friends. I too would get a bit jealous if I had to share Jeyne with you,” Sansa said plainly, but her gaze never looked for her sister's- Arya kept looking at her, her smile still wide and a lot of teeth, but she eventually just shrugged.

 

“Sure.” Arya finally said, and continued to play with Nymeria. Sansa looked at her for a moment with suspicion, before returning to Lady, and picking her in her arms. “I'm going to take Lady to meet Jeyne. She was scared when she knew about the direwolves, but how can she be scared of her?” Sansa cuddled Lady by her face, and the direwolf whinnied adorably, making her, and Bran, smile. She excused herself and left. Robb's pup yapped, and Bran petted him softly, still thinking Robb should be there.

 

Truth be told, he hadn't seen much of Robb in a while, and even if it felt childish, he missed his older brother. Since he had become old enough to sit on father's meetings, he wasn't around as much to play with him, although he had to admit Robb always made time. They read together and spared at least twice a week. Robb was a good brother and a great man, and Bran looked up to him. He loved Jon like a brother too, but with Robb there was always the knowledge that's how a Stark should be, honorable, strong and kind. How Bran was supposed to be one day. He would never want to disappoint Robb.

 

Maybe it bothered him a little that Robb was always closest to Jon, which felt a bit silly, considering that it was like having to older brothers that loved him. Maybe he wasn't bothered, maybe it was just that he was- aware. Robb and Jon, he knew that was always something different, apart, even if he couldn't really understand it, even when he thought about it most that came to mind was Barth and Elric. But that couldn't be, because it would be weird, being cousins, right? Bran could never think about Jon like that, but then again, Sansa had. Maybe Robb did too.

 

Arya kept playing with Nymeria, still whispering orders into her perked up ears. It did seem like the pup was paying attention after all. Arya payed attention too, that's why she always knew things, that's why she always smiled to herself. Even when she bled a man with needles. Bran shook his head, that was a dream. Did Arya knew as many things as he thought? Did she really knew how to kill a man with one stroke? Sometimes his dreams felt so real. He had dreamed of Jon's face, older, looking so much like father, caressing Robb's face. Not Robb's face, a visage of it, cold and stoney and lifeless. Maybe that's why Jon looked so sad in those dreams. Robb was supposed to laugh, not to be made of stone. Sometimes dreams seemed so real to Bran, almost like they were happening, or happened. Wasn't it like that for everyone? Bran smiled, knowing he was just being silly. Dreams were dreams.

 

Bran wouldn't fly, that too was just a dream.

 

 

**Catelyn**

 

She breathed in, the scent of mulch heavy on her nostrils, of fallen and deadened oak and ironwood leaves returning to the earth, to start the cycle anew. It had for thousands of years, in calm seclusion as the castle rose around it; stone towers and walls encircling the primal heart that had awaited for Winterfell since the children of the forest walked the earth. Once Catelyn had felt frightened by this godswood, so different from the one she knew in Riverrun, of golden and red leaves filtering sunlight over melodious streams, a lovely summer song. But she had learned, she had seen Wintefell's godswood's beauty. The song of this godswood was quiet, almost silent. Ancient rumbling beneath the earth, of roots ever-growing, of heavy and dark branches barely billowing under the cold winds. The same song there was before man, before the children. The song the old gods heard.

 

Twigs and leaves crackled under her heels as she walked, the path both known and secret, hidden, comforting. Trees she loved, nameless as her gods, dark bark rough under her fingertips, ancient, unmoving. Time was still in this place, a respite from a world that moved along frantic, a respite from a future that brought along the death of all she loved. She could hide in this place, pretend time was actually still; at least for a second, before facing what was to come.

 

The dark times had not yet arrived. There was still time to live, to breathe. To gather strength.

 

She finally made Ned sitting by the heart tree, and Benjen next to him, looking as at home as the trees surrounding them did. She couldn't help but smile, her Ned's lips were their usual thin line, but soft, almost parted; the ghost of a smile only to her. His gray eyes looked for her, as if sensing her arrival, their warmth not fire, but the steady heat of the earth itself, constant and deep and endless. Oh, she loved him so, was there a time she did not?

 

“Cat,” His voice was low, the gravel on it hiding the concern that was so clear to her eyes. He worried still, he always did. The thought of her dutiful Ned constantly bracing himself for bad news made her heart ache. The knowledge that perhaps she should too only made that aching more sharp. She quelled the thought, still hoping for some respite this day.

 

“Ned, Benjen,” She stopped by the pond and nodded to both of them, and Benjen did so in return. They sat on the heart-tree's large roots with practiced ease and comfort, as they had since childhood, she would say. It was not hard to imagine Brandon and Lyanna between them, laughing, smiling. Catelyn smiled too, perhaps to not think on the tightness in her throat. She looked up, the cold sunlight seeping through the canopy lazily, it was a lovely afternoon to just sit by the heart tree and do nothing. But as always, the world kept moving around this place, and Winterfell had to be run. “My Ned, “ She walked closer to him, her skirt kissing the surface of the pond, and placed her hand on his shoulder with a tender smile, “Jory Cassel sends for you.”

 

“Have the new recruits arrived?” He asked looking up, sounding expectant; a youthful glow to his stormy eyes. She smiled and nodded at him, her fingers touching lightly the line of his jaw and feeling the coarseness of his beard. “He has already started with the trials.” She said, and Ned stood up, towering over her. He gave her a small smile and if for any other man that would have been amused at best, for her Ned was excitement. He always liked to be present when the new recruits joined the ranks, welcoming them personally to his service. He liked to know the faces of the men that would fight for the Starks and the North, as his father did before him.

 

“Do you want me to come with you?” Benjen asked with deference, although he made little effort to move. “Don't worry brother, enjoy the afternoon,” Ned said with a small quirk of the lip, amused; she too knew how much Benjen missed the godswood so far away on the Wall, perhaps because the Godswood was as much as part of the Starks as it was of Winterfell. Treasured memories lived here, of the Stark children before her own, as tangible as the woods themselves for both Ned and Benjen. Her good-brother loved to spend entire afternoons in here, many of them with Jon, telling him stories and tales from the Wall and his childhood. Most times Jon couldn't wait to share them with Robb.

 

Ned placed his strong hands on her shoulders, and kissed her forehead tenderly, departing with a small nod. She watched him disappear among the trees, his fingertips trailing soft touches on old bark.

Her eyes returned to Benjen, who looked placidly at the pond at his feet, and she thought about letting him be. “Mind sitting with me for a while, Cat?” He asked instead. His lips tried to smile, but the heaviness in his tone was hard to hide. It was not hard to guess what made his mood so grave; she reckoned it was the same reason for her own restless thoughts. Yet she had had years to come to terms with what she saw. She nodded, and sat herself next to him on the thick root Ned had been sitting on. Ben stared at her for a second, a question he dared not to ask on his lips.

 

Maybe he shouldn't ask. Maybe they should just sit there and enjoy the afternoon, keep the dark thoughts away, just for the day. “You might ask whatever you like Ben, but I know it won't make you any happier,” She said with a tired sigh, her eyes resting on the placid pond at her feet. Benjen shrugged, his own sigh almost a mirthless laugh. His eyes wandered over the trees, unwilling to find hers as he spoke, “These have been a frightful few days. I know not if I should ask more, or if it's better for me not to know,” His words were small, but clear on the quiet of the godswood. “I trust you have told me what I need to know. I certainly do.” There was a but on his statement, but Catelyn didn't want to ask. “I have,” She said instead, with a firm nod, and although he smiled in return, she could still see his question.

 

He leaned back on the root he was sitting, his whole head now cast upwards, his face struck by the timid sunlight that managed to make its way through clouds and leaves. “I trust you Catelyn,” He said with conviction. It was a comforting feeling, knowing that Benjen trusted her, in what she saw. Yet it also meant that he knew the doom of her visions was true. Part of her wanted to spare him, but ultimately, she could not deny him. “Ask,” she said with heaviness, a silent apology behind her lips as he looked at him.

 

“When you saw him die, how- how old was Jon?” Benjen's grief was apparent, raw, even as he tried to keep his composure. He shouldn't have asked, Catelyn did not want to cause him any more pain. But she couldn't lie to him. “Not- not much older than he is now.” She said without looking away, even when it meant seeing his eyes filling with dread -the same dead Catelyn knew too well-. Jon looked perhaps as old as he did now, maybe just more tired, older in his heart if not on years. A year? More? Less? Too soon. Benjen remained silent, sorrow etched on his face like deep scars, “He's just a kid,” He said, but then shook his head, “He's to be eighteen soon. I know he is a man grown, but-” He couldn't finish, words failing to form on his trembling lip.

 

“He is your boy. He will always be,” She leaned and held Benjen's right hand on hers, patting his pale hand with her gloved one. He let out a pained sigh, his hand between her's almost shaking, “He is so young Catelyn. There is so much he has not done.” There was a hint of desperation on Benjen's voice, and she could only held on tighter. She could say that it won't happen, that their children will have long and full lives, but that felt like a lie. She didn't know. They could try to change the world over, yet there was the silent thought of if everything would be for naught. Unspoken, but still so very real. Maybe now not unspoken at all.

 

“Has he even left Winterfell? Does he know anything about the world beyond this place?” He said fast, as if his mind was running faster than his words. Then he sighed, with perhaps resignation, “He is just too young. I just want him to live, Cat.”

 

There was nothing Catelyn could say to that, no certainty, no wise sounding comfort even. It was the same wish she so fervently had for her own son. To live, and to have a life. Jon, Robb, barely grown men that had no chance to live being hounded by fate. How could not Ben grow desperate, how could not she? She held Ben's hand even tighter. There was no certainty, only hope; she had to hope. It was the only way she would not drive herself mad.

 

So she held his hand with all the care and tenderness she could muster, a silent comfort that was not a lie. They remained silent for a moment, the rustling of leaves high above them, until Benjen calmed himself enough. She let go of his hand, and placed hers on his shoulder, as if to ask if he was okay. Benjen just nodded. A courtesy.

 

He let go a deep rumble of a sigh, like he was willing his fear through his lungs. He looked peaceful for a moment, cleansed by the words said out loud. Whatever it took to keep the despair at bay, she knew too well. He suddenly laughed softly, as if the wind itself had whispered a joke into his ear. “Something funny?” She asked with a smile of her own. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but shook his head first instead.

 

“Is it too stupid that I was thinking about sending him to town with a sack of coin to do whatever he might want?” He laughed again, this time louder, and Catelyn had to join him. It was a good laugh, even if they both knew it was meant to hide their fears. “He could make the rounds; gamble, get smashed, get on a brawl, visit the girls at the-” Benjen stopped himself, twisting his mouth to not say what he clearly was thinking. Catelyn had to laugh again, “Ben, you can say whorehouse in front of me. I won't break nor run away in shock,” It hadn't even been much more than a week ago when she had fetched her own son from Winter Town's whorehouse. She felt altogether cured of any sense of scandal.

 

Benjen pondered for a second, still a bit shy. Still, the levity of his thoughts had faltered. “There, there are things I should speak of with him. Should have- he's not a boy anymore.” Benjen scratched his beard, and Catelyn couldn't help to find the gesture so similar to her Ned, that made her smile. They looked so alike when they were embarrassed. “There are things he needs to know for when, when the occasion-”

 

“Are you wondering if he has known a woman?” She said abruptly, quite aware of the surprised expression she caused on Benjen's face. He coughed, looking away for a moment, yet his gaze returned, expectant still. “Not that I am aware,” She said, telling herself that she wasn't lying.

 

Benjen looked up, pensive. “Does he, does he even, look at girls?” He asked with genuine concern, and Catelyn wasn't sure what he was asking. Her silence was an answer however, as Benjen rose his eyebrow, “Does he look at lads?” Although he didn't see a judgment on his face, Catelyn was completely at a loss as to what to say. It was not her place to talk about Jon's love life. Benjen shook his head, a prickle of red on his ears, “I'm sorry Cat. It's not my intention to make you feel uncomfortable.” He sounded embarrassed, but mostly, sad.

 

“Benjen?” She asked after his silence drew too long. He looked at her, his long face almost appearing gaunt. “I just want to know if he is happy,” He scoffed to himself, as if to chide his own candor. She let out a sigh of her own. Wasn't that what they all wanted for their children? Catelyn had to be hopeful that there would be a future for them, but if there wasn't? Was it enough to believe that they lived. That they loved? It wasn't, but it was something precious still. “There's something between him and Robb.” She said without looking at Benjen.

 

“Oh,” He said, without looking at her as well. They both kept staring at the pond in front of them, falling leaves kissing the surface of the water, forming ripples as they did so before the pond returned to its stillness. “Are you okay with that?” He asked finally breaking the silence. Catelyn studied him for a second, a frown on her face. “Are you?” She asked with curiosity, her face almost mimicking his expression.

 

“Well,” He said, scratching his beard, “The thought had crossed my mind for a while now,” Catelyn nodded, agreeing that for the last year or so, she could definitely notice something there, “Robb always sulked when Sansa played knights and princesses with Jon,” Benjen shook his head conspiratorially, as if it was something Cat would know. Perhaps she should have, so she said nothing and just nodded. “And Jon did pretty much the same every time Vayon Poole's daughter batted her eyelashes at Robb,” Catelyn nodded, accepting that if Jon ever actually sulked for such a thing, no one but Benjen had actually realized. Jon always seemed so serious and dour, once they realized that was just how he was, it was hard to notice when something actually bothered him. Robb always seemed to know though, like Benjen.

 

“For a while they had been distant, but after you arrived, they seem to have sorted their things out,” She said, feeling somewhat embarrassed of talking about his son's and Jon's more intimate relationship. She didn't want to pry, yet it was her role as a mother to worry.

 

“Are you sure?” He asked, his question vague enough, sufficiently polite. “Yes,” she said, not wishing to explain herself further, but Benjen's face remained questioning. She let out a sigh, and spoke fast, “Last night they shared quarters, and they have been missing together for most of the day.”

 

“Oh,” Benjen nodded, a small smile on his lips. “I'm -I'm glad. They have each other, that's a good thing. Whatever may happen, they have each other,” The silence hung after his words and Catelyn couldn't help herself from feeling a hint of sadness at the situation, a sorrow that seemed so frivolous amidst everything. He noticed Benjen staring at her noticing quickly. She huffed, much like he had done a moment ago. “If things go, well-” she said with a pause, pondering if that was a good way to say _hoping we all don't die,_ “I know Robb will have to marry someday; not for him, but for our house,” She said, and Benjen smiled sadly, “How I wish he could do so for love and not duty. Then I remember he and Jon can't actually marry.” She laughed, but she could hear something like bitterness beneath her own voice. It was unfair, one more unfair thing about their lives. “Among everything that is happening, I'm still sad I won't see my first born be wed to someone he loves.” She sighed. She might still see him wed, but not to Jon; and truth be told, she was not sure if Robb could ever love someone else. She could tell to herself they could grow out of it, but it felt as saying she could love her Ned less. Robb ached for Jon, he whispered his name on his sleep, his eyes haunted him, his ears burned when Jon stared back. It was easy to see if one knew. And now knowing that Jon felt the same, his devotion and loyalty maybe as deep as Ned's for her- could there be anyone else? Catelyn knew she should not feel this certain, it was at least, not prudent. Yet the image of Robb's sorrow staring at Jon, with a need that broke her heart was something that she could not erase from her mind. It was not like her other dreams clouded in metaphor and symbolism, this was a moment, just one moment, of a small distance that she knew insurmountable. Robb's aching for Jon painful and all consuming and Jon's sorrow for Robb thick like tar weighing him down, and somehow both utterly apparent to her. But Robb looked down on his chair, and Jon looked away from the window, the distance eternal and cold. Unspoken love that does not wither, it festers. That one dreamed, remembered moment still sometimes filled with the same dread their deaths did.

 

“If it is something they would want,” Benjen squirmed a bit on his seat, bringing Catelyn back to the moment, “They might not wed by the laws of the seven, but our gods are good. They wouldn't be the first men to vow themselves to each other under a heart tree.” He admitted somewhat reluctantly, as if she wasn't supposed to know that. A question rose adamant on her face, so he had little choice but to explain. “Our vows say we won't take wives nor father children. So other vows made that don't contradict our sworn oath- well, most Lord Commanders have looked the other way. Some brothers of the watch are more than that to each other.”

 

“I thought the brother's of the night's watch were meant to be celibate?” Catelyn asked with a slight smile, and Benjen almost snorted, “That's not on our vows, so that really eases the conscience of those that frequent Mole Town.”

 

“Of course, those who do,” She gave him a thin lipped smile, although she knew her eyes were full of mischief. Benjen's cheeks reddened in a way she couldn't help but to find adorable. They laughed, and for a moment everything was right. Serenity returned, and she let out a sigh, “It would be lovely.” Her voice sounded tight, surprising even herself.

 

She knew she had sounded fatalist, and Benjen seemed to pick up on it, now putting his hand on her shoulder. She smiled sadly, to this brother of her heart, now so much closer than the one of her blood. If anyone other than her Ned understood what she was going through, it was Benjen. She knew exactly what he was going through in the same measure, “I just want my Robb to be happy,” It was a lost task to stop the tears from forming on her eyes. For all the strength the gods gave her, she knew herself still just a mother despairing for her child. She still woke up at night, crying, seeing Robb's life stolen from him in front of her, his blue eyes becoming dull, his final words calling to her. And she could never reach him.

 

Her fear was reflected on Benjen's eyes, and for a moment she felt ashamed for burdening him when she was supposed to give him strength. He squeezed her shoulder more tightly, he understood. He was afraid too.

 

She begged the gods, to never allow her fear to grow larger than her hope. She had to believe. _The gods are good_ , she said to herself with desperation, hoping her faith was enough to guide her through the dreaded tomorrow _._

 

**Robb**

 

The heat of the sun was surprisingly heavy for a day that started so gray. Robb let out a sigh, feeling his damp hair stuck to his temple. He could feel the linen shirt cling to his skin and chest hair, and it was very uncomfortable. He quickly got rid of the offending garment, letting a sigh of contentment as he felt the cold air touching his bare skin. Almost sensing, he looked up, and he could see Jon's eyes on him, entranced. Robb blushed, knowing that Jon wanted nothing more than to take him right there. He felt a thrill run down his spine as Jon's eyes almost shamelessly hovered over his torso. Robb smiled, feeling suddenly powerful, and bent over to pick his discarded shirt, twisting his muscles just so that Jon could really have a sight of the body he had been very vocal about admiring. Jon bit his lip, if not on purpose, still very much sending needles of want through Robb's body.

 

“You okay?” Killan, one of the guards that was training, asked him. Robb suddenly was very aware of where he was. He was in the courtyard, sparring. His flirting with Jon was too distracting, they were being shameless. And that only made him want to do it more. “I hope you are not too beat already,” Benjen's Stark voice cut his thoughts as he helped a trainee up from the ground who just nodded at him sheepishly. Benjen patted the young man on the shoulder and made his way to Robb. “Time to square yourself against the First Ranger of the Nigth's watch, Lordling Stark.” Benjen grinned as he put his hands on his hips, and Robb could only respond with a tense smile. There was something on uncle Benjen's stare, and Robb did not like it at all. He searched for Jon, looking for reassurance, but when he saw Jon's dark eyes perhaps as wide as his own, he knew it wasn't just on his head.

 

“Seems both of us weren't on the courtyard yesterday,” Benjen said casually, and it felt like the blunt edge of a sword. He was wearing only a light black tunic, his long hair tied up, his eyes measuring and quick, his long fingers loosely grasping the training sword. Robb gulped but tried to remain calm, keeping his eyes on the movement of Benjen's feet as he moved, holding his own training sword tightly. He didn't know. He couldn't know what he and Jon had been doing yesterday, and the night before that. Benjen launched himself on a devastating attack that Robb had barely enough time to block. The courtyard erupted on a cheer, and Benjen grinned, wolfishly. He knew, he knew Robb had been doing things to his son. Robb had been an idiot, he should have known; instead he had blatantly flirted with Jon for everyone to see, for Jon's father to see.

 

Benjen jumped again, quick as an arrow, but Robb was more prepared this time around, hiding his sidestep on a parry, and his sudden counterattack caught Benjen off-guard. The Ranger gave him an appraising look once he regained his footing, returning to circle around Robb like a hungry wolf. Robb smiled this time, he was a wolf too. This time he attacked, and not with one trust, but a flurry of devastating blows that had to be avoided. He had used this against Jon several times, never being able to strike him before he over-exerted himself. And Benjen fought a lot like Jon, and he was fast; but not as fast. Robb's sword hit true at the side of Benjen's thigh, and he smiled to his success. But in his victory, he failed to notice Benjen quickly changing his weight, his hips moving right and out of Robb's path. With one strike, Benjen hit Robb's back hard, and Robb couldn't help the hiss escaping from his lips. He winced in pain as he tried to stand straight, but as he turned, Benjen only looked at him with a smile on his face.

 

“That was a mighty strike! It'ill be hard to just walk it off,” Benjen said stretching his right leg, where Robb had hit him, “Your training has been paying off, Robb,” Benjen smiled, that smile that made him look so different than Jon, so cheery. Robb couldn't help but smile back. This man was not just Benjen Stark, First Ranger of the Night's Watch, he was also his uncle, the one that used to tell him wild tales from beyond the Wall. Robb shouldn't be afraid of him, of course he didn't know, of course Uncle Benjen wouldn't even think what was happening between Robb and Jon was even a possibility. They were cousins, and they loved each other as such. That was what everyone would see. Robb looked for Jon's eyes with caution, and was happy to find those stormy eyes looking over him. “You have to make sure to keep your stance loose,” Benjen said as he walked to Robb, the training sword flung over his shoulder. “But I see you are not over extending yourself, that's a fine progress. You could teach a thing our two to our own recruits at the wall,.”

 

“Thank you, uncle.” Robb nodded, “Ser Rodrik has taught me well.” he added in deference to the master at arms, who beamed with pride next to the new recruits. Benjen, his uncle, clasped him on the shoulder and gave him a firm nod. “You are a great warrior Robb, and you will be even better with time.” There was a certain intonation on his uncle's voice that caught Robb's attention. Something like worry. It was easier to see him as Jon's father, because parts of Robb still wanted to pretend Jon wasn't his cousin, but Benjen was his uncle, a loving and caring one. “I hope so, uncle. I want to make my name proud.” Robb squared his shoulders as he stood, truly wanting to live up to what he said. There were so many ways how Robb thought himself unfit if the Stark name, that at least he had to give his best to be a great warrior. He had to be strong. He looked at Jon again, at his tussled dark hair and damp collar, his reddened cheeks and tempestuous eyes. Jon was strong on his own right, maybe more than Robb when it came to win a fight, but Robb still had to be as strong at him at least. Someday people would talk behind their backs, maybe mock them, perhaps even challenge them, challenge Robb as an unfit Lord of the North. Robb had to be strong, that way he would make sure no one dared to speak or act against Jon. If they didn't respect his right, they'd respect his might and his steel. Jon smiled from the distance, one of his small private smiles, with the small creases around the corner of his eyes. Robb had made his choice; there would be no lady Stark after his mother but for Sansa, and there would be no Lord of Winterfell from his blood but for Bran. Jon would be at his side, always, and as nothing less than his truest companion.

 

Benjen looked back, to Jon, a smile on his face, calling him to them. “When was the last time I saw you two sparred?” He wondered idly as Jon walked to them, the strut of his legs almost arrogant, making Robb grin with all sorts of mixed emotions. He wanted to win, but the thought of being pinned by Jon was almost more enticing than victory itself. Although being pinned by Jon's arms, straddled by his legs, that felt like a victory alright. “I'm sure you two knock each other down all the time, not that I need to see that,” Benjen said with a shake of the head, and Robb was about to repress a coughing fit but Benjen kept talking, “But no horseplay today. Let's see who wins today.”

 

Robb's mind was still reeling from the previous comment, so he had no answer when Jon's worried eyes fell on him. Before either of them could speak, Arya's voice cut the silence, “Food is ready,” She said with a sigh walking towards them, “Mom says you two should go wash up quickly,” She said without paying much attention to them, her eyes wandering over the sparring trainees with almost jealousy. She raised her hand to her face, staring at her fingertips and sighing again.

 

“Needlework?” Uncle Benjen stood behind her, his voice understanding. Arya looked up to him, an even bigger sigh escaping her lips, “It's the worst,” He laughed wholeheartedly, but there was something bright on his eyes, “Yes, you aunt Lyanna used to say the same. One time, she traded all her sweetmeats for a month if I helped her-” He said starting walking towards the castle, Arya following with attention behind him until they disappeared under the corridor.

 

“Are you okay?” Jon's worried voice reached him, barely a whisper. Robb turned to him and for a moment he thought to smile and say nothing was wrong. Jon eyes were dark, yet so warm and comforting. He did not need to hide things from Jon, not anymore. “I- I think your father knows?” Robb 's voice faltered at the end, still unsure if it was even true, or if it was something he should worry about. Jon, for his part, just flushed furiously as his expression went blank.

 

Jon remained as such even as they sat at the table. No one said anything about his almost mortified expression as he sat, not even Benjen, who just smiled widely as he noticed Jon pointedly avoiding his stare. He then looked at Robb and smiled some more, a chuckle escaping his lips almost, and Robb himself had to look down. “Is it going to be like this now?” Theon whispered next to him, his voice carrying only to Robb as he sat at the table, “Don't be too obvious, you too look like you were caught stealing sweetmeats from the kitchen,” His voice was jaded as usual, almost exasperated. Robb looked up, not sure what to say, but Theon just rolled his eyes, without even looking at him, “If you keep acting like that, by the morrow, everyone will know you too are fucking,” Theon said lightly as he grabbed the flagon in front of him and drank at a leisure pace, unaware, or unfazed by Robb's burning eyes on him. Robb wasn't sure what shocked him most, that Theon actually admitted that he knew, or that he just said it without trying to pull one over him.

 

The servants arrived carrying the plates, so Robb didn't have much time to wreck his head. Jon looked somewhat normal now, Arya seemingly keeping him entertained. Robb looked around, and his whole family ate with appetite, talking, trading stories and jokes; even his parents seemed in a better mood they had been the last few days. Everyone seemed- happy. They didn't know, they didn't know of the things Jon and him had been doing, how could they and act as if it was nothing to look down to? Benjen looked at him, with a warm smile and rising his cup on a subtle nod, and Robb could only return the gesture. Did they care? For a moment Robb's stomach tightened, thinking about the night on the library tower, and the doom her mother had spelled. They could all die, soon, so soon. Robb looked at Jon, who Arya had apparently made smile, even Sansa was covering her mouth to hide her giggles next to them. Robb swallowed hard and let out a calming sigh, deciding that at least today, he was still there, watching his family smile.

 

They ate for a while merrily, the surprising warmth of the day allowing them to have the windows open letting the pale sun bathe the dining hall. He didn't talk much to Jon, instead letting his siblings chat with him, it was very true they had seen very little of their cousin for the last couple of days. As Robb was learning from Theon that Ros was now working at the castle -still with some trepidation after the evening that they shared, and Theon seemingly sensing this as he snorted saying that Ros is very professional and had yet to tell him anything, even when he begged- Mother called attention to the table on behalf of her Lord Husband. Father nodded as the table fell silent, then proceeded to talk.

 

“The King, Robert Baratheon, will come to Winterfell. He'll arrive around a month from now,” Father said rather quickly then paused, and Robb thought the reason was to allow Sansa a moment to yell in excitement. Sansa shrieked in delight indeed, and Arya looked at her like she had grown a second head, and Bran beamed with excitement talking about meeting the Kingsguard. Even Theon looked surprised at Robb's side. Only then Robb noticed his mother eyes on him, her expression rather wondering. And only then Robb realized he perhaps should act surprised too. “I never thought we'd ever see the day the King would come to Winterfell, father!” Robb said with more fear than surprise, but it sounded very similar to him. For a moment his eyes caught Jon, who nodded almost comically, “Does it have to do with Jon Arryn's death,” Robb said quickly to stop Jon from his frantic movement before it became too obvious. _Am I supposed to know that?_ Robb asked to himself, freezing for a moment, then remembering his father did mention Jon Arryn's death to him yesterday. It had been very hard to peel himself away from Jon to attend to his daily meeting with father.

 

“It's likely,” His father said with thin lips, mother sighing almost imperceptible, “Of more import, is the preparations we will have to make to receive his- entourage,” Although Robb felt his father was leading the conversation elsewhere, he has to admit that the king's visit would be a headache to everyone. There would be so much preparations to be arranged to receive the King and the hundreds that would surely follow. Robb looked for Jon, and he looked calm. They had decided they wouldn't even think about Robert Baratheon recognizing Jon as Raeghar's son; chances of that were almost impossible. Jon did look all Stark, almost like a young Eddard Stark his mother often said. It was more likely that the King would take a liking to Jon just because of that, thing that didn't make Jon any happier in the least.

 

The table erupted in questions from his siblings, to which his parents responded with patience. Sansa would start working on the embroidery for a new dress for the royal visit with excitement, Arya too, but with far less enthusiasm. Bran was already wondering what he would ask to the King's knights, and he was most excited to meet the Kingslayer of all of Robert Baratheon's kingsguard. Although Bran and Sansa's excitement permeated the table, to Robb it was very apparent that to everyone else it caused nothing but uneasiness.

 

“I don't want the castle to be run over by pompous idiots,” Arya whispered through gritted teeth, and Robb had to smile at that, and so did Jon. They locked eyes for a moment; so much had changed between them, better said, around them. Now they knew things, things perhaps they shouldn't know, things that weighed heavily. Other changes maybe weren't as big as he thought. He tapped Jon's foot under the table with his own, a playful smile in his face, making Jon's eyes crinkle in amusement just for him in return. This was Jon, his best friend, his companion,- his lover. Maybe he was always supposed to be all of those things. But Robb always knew Jon was supposed to be by his side, even if the world itself crumbled around them.

 

“Are you staying until the king arrives?” Bran asked exactly, making Robb focus again on the conversation at the table. Uncle Benjen nodded with a soft smile, “Perhaps, I will certainly be here when the King gets here. I've sent a raven asking Lord Commander Mormont for his orders, having the king's ear is an opportunity we can't let pass,” Uncle Benjen said with a fleeting worried expression before continuing, “Perhaps I'll make a quick trip back to the Wall, but I'm sure the old bear is sending me back.” Uncle Benjen said almost like a private smile, making Bran look somewhat confused.

 

“The King has always been fond of father, and our family,” Robb said catching Bran's attention. “If things had been different, they would have been good-brothers, you remember that?” Robb wanted to look at Jon to see his reaction, but he knew he shouldn't. Bran opened his mouth in a small gesture of realization, then nodding firmly. Father and Uncle Benjen nodded too, stiff and not very convincing smiles on their faces, although father's visage seemed almost wistful. Sometimes father spoke of the past, his friendship with Robert Baratheon when they were boys and like brothers, nostalgia seeping through his otherwise stern face. He did love him like a brother; that only made his silence after mother promising to kill king Robert to protect Jon if she had to all the more telling. Robb couldn't say he'd do much different.

 

He'd too would kill the king to protect Jon. Perhaps there was a reason why Robb had the Tully coloring. _Family, Duty, Honor._ Perhaps family came first for a reason.

 

Robb grabbed his cup of wine and took a long sip, trying to swallow his heady thoughts. There was so much to worry about, to loose countless nights fearing the future. But he did not want to spoil his mood, not in such a lovely day.

 

“Father,” Robb said rising his eyes as he placed his cup down, “I expect you will have need of me on the following weeks, I happily will assist you in any way you see fit,” Robb said with a firm nod and father smiled contentedly, but there was something Robb wanted to ask, “May I request to have the afternoon to myself? I foresee there won't be many chances to go for a ride soon, and I'd really like that.”

 

“Of course Robb,” Father answered quickly and almost surprised, “In fact, you will all have the afternoon to yourselves. Things indeed will become hectic soon, so it is a good idea we all take the opportunity to enjoy the quiet.” Father said as his eyes looked for mother, and he gently grabbed her hand on his. She smiled fondly, and Robb could see the corners of his father's lips ticking upwards as well.

 

“Oh! Can we join you Robb?” Bran asked excitedly, and Robb didn't know how he was supposed to say no to Bran when he looked at him with those big blue eyes of his, “Come on, Bran! You will only slow Robb, you know how fast he likes to ride!” Arya chirped in with a pout, then scooted closer to Bran and spoke more softly, “Come on, you promised you would spar with me when we had a chance, today is perfect for that!” She said almost in a whine that sounded more Sansa than Arya. But Bran just sighed, then smiled, “Okay, okay,” He retorted as if he was doing a favor for Arya.

 

Arya's eyes caught Robb's, and she smiled a very wolfish grin.

 

“Jon, will you come with me? We still need to break that race.” Even if the words were innocuous, they sent a thrill down Robb's spine as he said them. His voice must for sure have cracked, but no one said anything. Not even Theon who just drunk from his flagon long and without paying attention. Or paying too much attention. “Sure,” Jon answered on a flat voice that betrayed little, but the bump of his foot that Robb felt under the table gave him shivers all the way to his neck.

 

Father smiled one of his rare wide smiles, his eyes looking fondly at his children in front of him. “I remember when me and Brandon used to ride through the Wolfswood just like that,” He let out a sigh of remembrance, seemingly unaware of mother and Benjen's stares falling on him. He stared back at them confused for a second, before reaching for his cup of wine and taking a long sip. While mother just continued as if nothing had happened, Uncle Benjen let out a small chuckle. “Have fun you two,” He said with a smile that was too much like Arya's.

 

After that, mother had allowed them their leave, and everyone stood up. Arya and Bran went immediately over to Robb's room to check on the pups. Robb didn't mind it much because he hardly was spending any time in his own quarters. Besides he liked the idea of the pups growing together for a while more. Last night he and Jon had spent hours with them to make up for their time away. Robb had spent at least two hours trying to come up with a name, but he still had no clue. Jon had scooted next to him, the hearth all but consumed, looking for his warmth. Robb had wrapped them in his bed furs, and they sat with the pups on the floor, the wind licking the castle walls the only sound midst their comfortable silence. His pup yapped a soft bark, and then yawned, as if lulled by the sound of the wind. “Grey Wind,” Robb had whispered as the pup fell asleep on his hands. The sight alone had made him smile, realizing that Jon ad fallen asleep on his shoulder almost made him melt.

 

As Bran and Arya squirreled away, Sansa lingered, her blue eyes for some reason looking for his. He faced her, and Sansa almost jumped when he did. She quickly composed herself and walked over his seat on the table. Jon looked at him, his brow raised. He heard Theon chuckle and stand up, “Remember to stretch first, lest you pull anything,” He said over his shoulder as he waved goodbye. Robb looked around, and only he, Jon and Sansa remained on the dining hall, and for some reason, he did not like that. There was something on Sansa's face, something he couldn't quite name. She stared at them both for a moment, her eyes finally ending on Jon, a soft smile forming on her lips. Robb frowned, he always knew that he was not the only Stark to see their cousin with forlorn eyes.

 

But she said nothing, she just bowed slightly to Jon on her way past him, then gave Robb a soft pat on the shoulder, then walked out the dining room, her footsteps light on the stone.

 

“What was that about?” Jon asked with curiosity, but Robb had no intentions to talk about Sansa, He grabbed Jon's hand firmly, and pulled him closer. “Let's go,” He smiled widely, and Jon returned it in kind.

 

They almost run to the stables, their horses already waiting for them to his surprise, “Lord Theon said to bring them up,” The stable boy said as he shoveled hay into the feeders. Jon let out a chuckle and set to saddle his horse while Robb let out a sigh and started to do so as well. There was a part of Robb that was still coming to terms with knowing this between him and Jon had only happened because Theon had spoken up. And Robb was certain that Theon didn't even like Jon that much. Robb knew he'd had to thank him somehow, even if it would most likely end in Theon having a laugh at him.

 

They rode through the courtyard, and as they left, they caught a glimpse of Theon and Ros sitting at the battlements, a book held between the two of them. Neither of them payed attention to Jon and Robb, far too entertained reading the book. Robb smiled, hoping that Theon wouldn't mess that up. Robb hoped as much for himself. They left the castle through the North Gate, quickly starting a gallop as they rode farther and farther from the castle walls. Once they reached the border of the Wolfswood, they looked back, and Winterfell looked so small so far away. He was sure no one could see them there, Jon had told him.

 

Robb lead his mare next to Jon's horse, and his heart started pounding the moment he felt the closeness between them, as if they had not spent the last two days by each others side. Jon edged closer until they were barely a touch away, Jon's eyes covered by his unruly curls. Robb brushed them away, even if it was hard to keep them that way with the wind, but he managed. Jon stared back at him, an almost shy anticipation on his face that he could see hid something heated. They had talked little during the ride; their silence almost a game of thrills, both knowing full well, what they were up to. It was Jon who closed the distance and kissed him first, his lips plump and moist, brave in their desire. Robb's own were pliant, giving as much as Jon's wanted. It was a short kiss, yet still leaving them breathless. Jon smiled, reaching for Robb's hand still on his face and pressed it gently. “We really could have been doing this for longer,” Jon lamented with a smile on his face, his eyes bright with mischief. Robb thought of all what they had done already, and all they had yet to do, and felt the flush creeping up his neck. “I guess we'll have to make up for it.”

 

Jon kissed him quickly, just a peck, then he smiled slyly, “Race you to the clearing?” He didn't wait for Robb's answer before darting away. Robb laughed, the challenge making his blood rush, and set off to follow Jon as fast as he could. They rode frenetically through the Wolfwood, perhaps being less carefull than they should have, but Robb's blood was boiling inside him, and he knew Jon's too. The beasts hooves trampled leaves and twigs in their race, both riders unwilling the other to get the advantage. Robb pulled on his reins with practiced control, making his mare go exactly where he went. Jon on the other hand was wild, pulling on the reins as if by feeling, trusting more on the horse than his own guide. He was wild and reckless when he rode, just like Lyanna Stark had been according to those who had met her. Beneath Jon's Stark dourness that almost everyone only saw, there was the wildness of the wolf, and perhaps also the fire of the dragon. And only Robb had gotten to see that. He pushed his mare even further, his heart thumping, wanting nothing more than to claim his price.

 

They reached the clearing almost at the same time, and Jon was quick to call it a tie. “So we both win?” Robb asked as he easily dismounted from his mare, then tied her to a tree. The clearing was one they had found years ago, isolated, but not far from the castle. And most importantly, very private. Jon did the same, tidying up his horse, but he grabbed a pair of training swords he had packed without Robb noticing. He threw one to Robb and smiled, almost cockily, “I think it's time for a tie breaker,”

 

“I don't think you are being fair, Jon,” Robb said balancing the wooden sword, and circling around Jon with ease, “You always win at this,” He said evenly, but he couldn't hide the smile on his own lips. “Perhaps we should even things out,” Robb stuck the sword to the ground in one movement, then proceeded to unfasten the claps of his cloak, then set to work on the fastenings of his jerkin. He only gave a glance to take note of Jon's reactions, of his slightly open mouth and flushed cheeks. Robb did quick work of his jerkin and tunic throwing them to the ground on a messy pile next to his cape, welcoming the fresh air on his skin. He pulled the sword from the ground, and took his stance, “Now I'm ready,”

 

“That's cheating,” Jon said raising his eyebrow, but still his voice crackled. Robb still couldn't believe how the mere sight of his bare chest drove Jon so wild with a want that made him loose his voice, but the knowledge of it made shivers run down Robb's own spine. Jon's eyes looked at him with shameless appraisal, the hunger in their stormy twilight sharp and urgent. Robb licked his lips, and charged. Not because Robb already knew the outcome he wouldn't still try to win.

 

He slashed across Jon's torso, but he was quick, always so quick, and leaped backwards with ease, Robb quickly brought his arm back to him, managing to easily block Jon's counterattack. He pushed forward with all his weight, making Jon stumble backwards and for a moment Robb thought he had an opening, but Jon quickly regained is footing and sidestepped, only to charge quick as lightening and aiming for Robb's legs. But even if Robb wasn't as quick of feet as Jon, he still had good reflexes. He met Jon sword with his, the strike of wood against wood almost thunderous, making even his owns arms tremble. Jon grinned, his face very close, so close he had no problem leaning forward and catching Robb's lips on his. Jon pushed with his weight against the sword, and Robb, still caught of guard by those lips, fell into the ground with a thud, Jon quickly following on top.

 

“Now that is cheating!” Robb laughed as he breathed in, Jon's curls a messy curtain hiding them both. He grinned, his eyes fiery like, and purposefully flushed himself against Robb, his hands on each side of Robb's shoulders propping him up. “Do you yield to me, Stark?” Jon growled, his voice so low it made Robb's breath catch, as it did every time Jon used that voice. He was ready to say yes right there, but he couldn't let Jon win so easily. “Not yet, Targaryen,” Robb caught Jon's waist with his arms, pressing him close. He rolled over, and Jon tried to squirm his way out, but Robb would not let him. Jon's laugh was low and heated, his hair getting matted with twigs and leaves as Robb rolled them over the ground. They ended up as they started, Jon on top of him, now straddling Robb's waist. He sat himself comfortably, making Robb buck up and let out a loud groan. Pleased with himself, Jon bit his lip, hunger clear on his eyes, on his flushed cheeks, on his reddened lips.

 

They stared at each other for a long moment that neither one wanted to break despite the anticipation making them shiver. Jon leaned over, pressing a soft kiss on his lips, and Robb couldn't help the wave of feelings that washed over him. This moment, it was perfect. It was everything. He felt his throat tighten and his eyes prickle, but he didn't want to ruin it. But Jon kissed his eyelids without speaking, pushing the tears away. “You don't have to hide yourself when is just the two of us,” He said. Robb nodded, feeling embarrassed, even when he knew Jon would never judge him. Robb knew he had to be strong, to protect Jon, but he also knew he could only really be strong if Jon was with him. He'd ride to meet armies of thousands with only a sword on his hand and Jon's name on his lips. He had to be strong to protect Jon, yet it was Jon the one that was comforting him now.

 

“I am not going to let anyone hurt you,” Robb declared, his voice a low growl but unable to hide the fear he really felt. Jon just looked at him with his dark eyes, his lips a fond smile. They had talked the day before, about the danger Jon was in, about what he meant that he was a Targaryen, but Jon didn't seemed as scared as Robb, and he couldn't understand why. “Maybe I am a fool,” he had said, “Maybe I should be scared.”

 

Robb didn't want Jon to be afraid, perhaps he just wanted not to be afraid himself. Jon, almost hearing his thoughts, entwined his fingers through Robb's. “It's me Robb, you can be scared in front of me,” Jon said comfortingly, but all that Robb wanted was to protect Jon, how could he do that if he was scared? But Jon did his best to keep kissing that worry away, his lips going from tender to hungry and back again with tender abandon, “Don't worry about who you should be, I don't want you to pretend in front of me. You are mine Robb, and I love you just as you are, you don't have to hide yourself from me, because I want all of you. Always have.”

 

That only made Robb's eyes water even more, but this time also a smile form on his lips, “You don't have to hide your fear from me either, I'm feeling rather alone on it here,” He sniffled a laugh, and Jon sat upright, making Robb feel the pressure on his crotch. Jon grinned at the small moan Robb let out. “I'm not afraid, maybe I will be. But I know that as long as I'm with you, I don't have to worry about anything,” Jon said lowly, and he sounded almost enchanted. Robb had spent almost two days swearing to himself that he'd protect Jon and keep him safe yet rattling himself in fear. Jon in turn, had found serenity just in the fact that they were together. Maybe Jon was in the right here, or maybe Robb really would never stop worrying. Maybe each other was what the other needed. Jon kissed him again, and Robb allowed his worries to be melted under those lips. Jon had always been his respite, since they had been children and Robb thought himself weak and stupid, it was Jon's closeness that pushed that self loathing away. He had spent almost a year hiding himself from Jon, and now that seemed just silly. He didn't need to hide from, he didn't need to pretend, he didn't need to be the Heir of Winterfell, the handsome warrior, the dutiful son. He was just Robb. They were just Robb and Jon.

 

With him, Robb could be as vulnerable as he wanted, and the thought sent chills down his spine. “You are mine,” Jon had said several times now, and each time it made Robb feel like he was melting. He was Jon's, and he wanted to be his entirely. Robb smiled, and quickly started undoing the fastenings of Jon's jerkin, Jon's hands quickly coming to his aid and helping him remove his leathers. Soon Jon's pale skin was under his calloused fingers, his supple flesh covering taut and strong muscles. Jon's chest was firm under Robb's hand, then his wandering fingers reached through the pale expanse of skin and reached his strong shoulders. Robb pushed the clothes off Jon's back as he caressed the skin, the muscle beneath firm and warm. Robb groaned with want as Jon moved on top of him, his eyes fluttering close before focusing again on the man on top of him. The light filtered lazily through the tree tops, a dream-like haze surrounding them. Jon's hair was wild and smelled of earth and leaves, his skin of musk and fresh sweat. Robb run his hands up Jon's strong arms, reaching his neck, cusping his hair covered jaw and touching his plump red lips. The skin of his chest and neck was flushed, a stark crimson against his paleness. Jon breathed in, the movement itself making his muscles ripple under the reddened skin. Robb had forgotten how to breathe, Jon was the most beautiful man he had ever seen, and he was his. And he was Jon's to do as he pleased. A sob caught on his throat, but he quickly drowned it by pulling Jon to him and kissing him with desperation.

 

Jon growled as his teeth scraped Robb's lip, almost demanding blood. Robb whimpered as Jon's nails dug on his shoulders, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to leave a mark. Robb belonged to him, and Robb wanted nothing else. Not to be the Lord of Winterfell, not to lead an army, not to be a King. Maybe that was his fate and his duty, and he would oblige without doubt, but in here, under Jon, he was just Robb, and all he wanted was in front of him. Jon cupped Robb's chest, a wild fire on his eyes and he lowered himself, kissing the hair covered skin around Robb's nipple, scraping his teeth against the flesh. Jon pressed his length further, and Robb could painfully feel Jon's hardness against his.

 

Jon's eyes bored into him, and for a moment he looked somewhat embarrassed, and Robb could only smile, “All those times on the courtyard,” Jon spoke, his voice ragged and thick, “All I could think was about how you looked under all those clothes. All I wanted to do was to rip them off,” And Robb could only let out a pained sound. Jon wanted him, he wanted him with a frenzy never thought to ever felt. He always knew Jon's love for him to be endless and pure, but this want, this want made that love almost consuming. As much as Robb wanted nothing but to be Jon's, Jon wanted nothing but to have him, and that made Robb utterly undone with desire.

 

He pulled Jon to him once again and kissed him until he couldn't breath and his face hurt from the beard rash, Jon's desperate fingers undoing the laces of their trousers. His deft hands made quick job of that, and he soon almost yanked them down Robb as he did his, then lying on top of Robb completely naked. Robb frantically managed to free himself from his trousers completely, making sure to grab the small bottle on his pocket. He raised his legs, straddling Jon from beneath him, their bodies pressed together and already covered in sweat. They remained like that for a moment, Jon's wild eyes wide and bright as dusk as they stared into his “Robb,” He whispered almost pained, and Robb held his face so their eyes met completely. “We belong to each other. Always,” He could worry forever, but one truth was undeniable, that they had each other. Robb couldn't to say they wouldn't die, but this was something that nothing could erase. These moments, they were all that mattered. He kissed Jon again, this time so tenderly and deep it was almost painful. So long had he dreamed of this, cursed himself for wanting this, and now he had it. If death was a punishment for this, if this was a reward for the pain they would have to endure, Robb did not care either way.

 

He pulled Jon closer, embracing him so he could bite at his hear of he wanted, “I'm yours,” he whispered, feeling Jon's cock twitch between them. “Do, do you want me to-” Jon asked with trepidation, voice barely above a whisper, “I yield, Jon,” Robb declared shamelessly with a grin, wanting nothing more that to feel Jon inside.

 

It was obvious both of them were inexperienced, but it didn't matter. Jon took his time, making his way with commendable restraint when all Robb wanted was to have him flushed against him. They had done so many things they hadn't even dreamed of the last two days, but this had been taking Robb's whole mind with each moment. He hadn't thought of himself desiring this so much, in his old fantasies it was he who always took Jon, perhaps that why they felt so wrong. Jon was not a whimpering thing that crushed under his weight, he was a wolf full of want and desire, and Robb wanted nothing more than to give himself to him. The initial discomfort was stark and almost frightening, but Robb had already tested his limits yesterday. He breathed deeply, Jon pushing with unbelievable tenderness, until the pleasure soon replaced the pain. He was carried by the rhythm of Jon's movement, and soon all what Robb could do was to loose himself on the sensation, on Jon's weight on top of him, his thrusts and the obscene sounds that escaped from his mouth, the sounds that escaped from his own mouth, of the fullness he never thought he'd desire so desperately. “You are gorgeous,” Jon repeated between kisses, his words almost becoming slurred. Robb pulled him closer with his hands, grasping at his ass with need. “You are mine,” Jon groaned as he pushed himself deeper making Robb gasp with pleasure, the edge of agony and ecstasy blinding for a moment. Jon then wrapped his fingers around his cock, working him until their rhythm was one and the same. Jon's pace became undone, and he almost lost his balance but Robb held him firmly as his own pleasure built from the inside out in a way he never had felt before. Jon's muscles tensed through his whole body and he cried out Robb's name in a rumbling growl, making Robb himself fall over the edge, spending himself on Jon's hand as Jon did inside of him. Sound itself around him ceased as his body rode the waves of pleasure, and all he could hear was his own heart beating in ecstasy for a moment. Jon collapsed on top of him, and his heartbeat joined his. They lazily searched for each others lips, the ecstatic fire of their encounter now simmering to warmth.

 

They remained over the pile of clothes and leaves until Robb felt too cold. Without having to say anything, Jon pulled Robb's cloak from the pile and covered them with care, without leaving Robb's side. “Thanks,” Robb said with a warmth he didn't thought he had felt before, and Jon scooted closer, placing his hand on Robb's chest. “I liked that,” Jon admitted without looking at Robb, embarrassed, thing that made him laugh, “I really liked it too. A lot.”

 

“Maybe next time we won't do it on a pile of leaves,” Jon said with a smile, his hair still covered in leaves and twigs that Robb didn't know how he would get off. They held each other close, their breathes now evened out, the warmth of their bodies blending beneath the cloak. It truly was perfect. Even if there was still so much to worry about, that moment was perfect. “I love you, Jon” Robb whispered, feeling suddenly exposed but not regretting it. Jon smiled to him, “I've always loved you,” his voice was almost innocent, and perhaps it was even despite what they had just done. “This is just another way to show you,” He grinned, and Robb had to laugh. He could stay there forever, he knew, even when the leaves now stuck to his ass were getting unconformable.

 

“I think my father do knows,” Jon said almost absentmindedly, “He doesn't seem to be angry.” Robb swallowed hard, but his fear seemed unfounded. He too was sure Benjen Stark ahd to know, that had been too much innuendo to be accidental. “You know, there are only men on the wall,” Robb wondered aloud, making Jon eyes fall on him quick as a whip, “And Crissen, well, you know-” Robb scratched his beard awkwardly, not looking at Jon. “So your father-”

 

“I don't want to think about my father like that!” Jon said almost alarmingly shrill, and Robb had to laugh. “No! I mean, he maybe knows what to spot? And maybe it's not something he even cares about,” Robb scratched his beard even further, Jon's face still looking at him somewhat shocked, “What I'm saying, that if he knows, it doesn't mean everyone does?”

 

Jon blinked, considering this, “I'm certain that the gossip about the heir of Winterfell fucking his cousin would become popular rather quickly,” Jon said flatly, and Robb burst out laughing. “I'm not joking Robb,” Jon retorted, but Robb couldn't stop himself. “That only makes funnier,” Robb gasped for air; he knew it would be disastrous, but somehow, laughing at it felt better than just wallow on the paranoia. “Okay, okay,” He said calming himself. “We have to be careful,” He let out a sigh, and held Jon closer to him. “It's a good thing only Theon, and your father, know for sure.”

 

Jon let out a small snort as he leaned on his chest, and Robb started to pull the bits of leaves and twigs from Jon's hair. It would take him a while, but there was nowhere else he'd rather be. “We should try to ride to the west edge, do you remember that stream we used to swim in. It might be too cold for a swim, but we haven't been there in years.” Jon's voice sounded small, tender, and Robb felt his heart swell with fondness, and love.

 

“Sure, we still have time,” Robb said with a smile as he kissed the top of Jon's head. The sun shone through the canopy timidly, the midday already past, but they were still hours away from dusk. There was still time, and they would make the most of it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this and seriously all your kudos and comments had made this so much better! I'm glad that people have enjoyed this, and it makes me hope to revisit this story soon!
> 
> There are two one shots planned linked to this. They are not -technically- on the same continuity, but they are about events alluded to on Cat and Bran's visions, and perhaps I'll even do a drawing for one of them!
> 
> Again so many many thanks for your comments, and I'm so grateful that I shared something you have enjoyed. Special thanks to Theworldisours, such a cool person that I got to know through this fic, and indeed, lets huzzah for more Jon/Robb!
> 
> UPDATE JUNE 2018: Okay so I had a comment that made me think about what will happen with this fic and universe, so I'm adding that reply slightly edited: 
> 
> I hoped someday to write a sequel for this, alas, life gets in the way. It was hard to get confortable in the quiet of my own head after loosing someone very close to me. But maybe now I'm again on a headspace where I can write.
> 
> There are so many ways this story could go, and I have some specifics in mind, yet, it would be tantamount to rewriting most of the story. And I kinda do want to do that, but I realized I would have changed more stuff if I wanted to do if I had that chance. I have been for a long time considering what path to follow regarding what I have the time to write, and while I would love to keep working on Reprise, there is another set up that I feel has a lot more appeal to me in terms of the characters and the worldbuilding. In few words, a setting where Lyanna gets to raise Jon, and other things happen very differently.
> 
> I love the conceit of Reprise -about Cat having the dreams- but there's so much more I want to explore. I do feel I managed to get done what I wanted to do with "Reprise", writing about them falling in love and maybe that's all the story I needed to tell on this fic. Yet there's so much more cool stuff that I wanna write about ASOIAF and Jonrobb and I'm really excited to work on that continuity. I'm already 24 ish pages in working on the Overview, and I have also made use of my other skill for that; illustrating.
> 
> So, if you want to give a look, this is the "Restless" AU I have been working on! http://ramavatarama-o-rama.tumblr.com/tagged/Restless-AU
> 
> Have't updated the concepts on a while, but currently working on some ;D


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